Defining Moments
by smacky30
Summary: NOT a recap of past epsiodes. A look at the moments that have shaped their lives and their thoughts and feelings over the past 7 years. Spoilers thru S7. GSR! Rated for language & adult situations. Pls read the AN for the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

Defining Moments

Sara's Story

Disclaimer: Not Mine. That's all.

A/N: Thanks to Cropper for the beta. And to Doris and Kaye for the encouragement.

In everyone's life there are defining moments, snippets of time that change a person's view of the world. Life is divided into segments by these milestones. I hear it every day, people saying things like, "Before the accident", "Before I was laid off", "Before my surgery", "After my mother killed my father". One of these moments occurred for me the minute, the very _second_, I met Dr. Gil Grissom.

It was a day made unremarkable by its resemblance to the one before. The sun was shining, birds chirping, people laughing and talking. Little did I know when I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the coffee pot this day would mark the beginning of a new direction for me. My plan for the day, after classes, was to attend the first in a series of lectures on forensics. I'd heard the speaker, while top in his field, was old and boring. So when I took a seat in the front row I figured the guy setting up must be some sort of assistant. I mean he was older than the typical grad student but he wasn't old. And considering his colorful use of the English language as he fumbled with notes and slides, he was most certainly not boring. Imagine my surprise when this curly-haired, broad-shouldered 'assistant' stepped behind the lectern and introduced himself as Dr. Grissom. I must have looked as shocked as I felt because suddenly the bluest eyes I'd ever seen landed on me and his eyebrow rose in a gesture I would eventually come to love.

He started out by telling _the_ most awful joke I had ever heard. I've been to plenty of lectures, seminars and training sessions and every one has started with a bad joke. Still, in my long and varied history of being subjected to bad jokes, his was the worst. I vaguely remember polite laughter and nervous shuffling all around me but the thing I'll never forget is the way his gaze sought mine. He gave me a wink that was definitely flirtatious. I returned his amused gaze with a smile – like we were sharing a private joke which was much funnier than his public one. It was in that moment, that single breath, I knew this man would change my life.

When he started speaking I was entranced, captivated. His accent was something I couldn't place. The vowels slid off his tongue like syrup, his lips caressing the letters into a sweet cadence. His eyes sparkled and a smile would occasionally curve his lips up at the corners. He was brilliant and so obviously excited about his subject that I was sucked in. I'd long been accepting of the fact that I was smarter than a lot of people. To find someone who could challenge me on an intellectual level was a rarity. But this man intimidated me with his knowledge. My mind was racing in an effort to keep up with all the information; my pen scratching across the paper in a continuous scrawl. I still have the notes I took that day. When he asked if anyone had questions I was didn't know where to begin so I waited.

I sat patiently until he dismissed the group, remaining in my seat until everyone had left. When the door had clanged shut behind the last of the stragglers, I stood and walked over to where he was placing papers in his briefcase. I stood there with my notes in one hand and my purse slung over my shoulder. I could feel my body vibrating with the urge to speak, to ask the questions I'd listed on the paper in my hand. Finally, when I was just beginning to think he was ignoring me, he looked up. Again, I was struck by the blue of his eyes. They were the color and clarity of the Caribbean and I was lost. Definitely not something I'd experienced before, a weightless, giddy feeling washing over me in waves.

Belatedly, I realized he was speaking when I saw his eyes narrow just a bit in confusion. I could feel the blush heat my face and mentally cursed my fair skin. I stuck out my empty hand and introduced myself. My eyes stayed on his until I felt his big, warm hand clasp my slender one. When his skin came into contact with mine something happened. I felt a tingling that went from my hand to my breasts and further south to settle at the juncture of my thighs. I remember sucking in a breath, my eyes flitting from his baby blues to our hands and back. That's when I noticed the widening of his eyes. He looked surprised. And then his irises darkened, the pupils dilating. I would have sworn the man was aroused. Suddenly, there was not enough air in the room.

We stood there uncomfortably for a just a few seconds before I pulled my hand away and cleared my throat. Determined to get past the awkwardness I pressed on. I placed my list on the desk and began asking questions. Why, why, why? No matter what I asked he had an answer. Again, I was amazed by his mind. When his stomach growled I realized how long we must have been standing there. Another blush heated my cheeks and I began to apologize profusely. Gushing in my attempt to thank him for his time, I gathered my things. When I had shoved my notes into my bag and turned to walk toward the door, he called my name. I stopped and looked back. He asked if I was hungry. I don't make it a habit to go out with strangers but he was different. I think I said yes. I may have only nodded. Regardless, I found myself sitting across from him at a small diner about two blocks away, talking about dead bodies and insects and literature and life while we ate cheeseburgers and fries. The longer we talked the more animated he became and the more attractive I found him.

I've never needed much sleep, particularly when I'm in learning mode. Even as a teenager I was too driven to allow myself to sleep for more than four or five hours at a time. It wasn't until Grissom (that's what he asked to be called) stifled a yawn that I realized it was almost midnight. Again, a blush lit up my face and I began to rummage through my purse for money to pay my bill. He gave me the strangest look, picked up the ticket and walked away. I hurried after him, a ten dollar bill clasped in my hand. When I slapped it down on the counter beside the register he merely smirked and shook his head. I decided not to argue about it and politely thanked him while returning the crumpled bill to my purse. He held the door for me and I remember thinking he was such a gentleman.

We walked the couple of blocks to his car in silence. I was feeling a little awkward. I was so attracted to him. I kept hoping he would kiss me, hoping he found me attractive too. We reached his car and I stuck out my hand. He said he'd drive me home. I protested. After all, I had been here for a while. I felt safe. He merely gave me his enigmatic look and waited me out. I sank down in the seat of the rental car and sighed. I gave him directions and a few short minutes later we were pulling up in front of my apartment. I reached to open the door and felt his hand on my arm. He instructed me to wait and then he got out, came around and opened the door for me. I'm sure I looked like a total goof. I was smiling so hard my face hurt. He walked me to the front door, shook my hand and wished me a goodnight.

I stood in the lobby and watched him drive away. Who was this man with the beautiful eyes, the football player's body and the brain of a Mensan? I was half in awe, half in love and totally, one hundred percent curious. I know he fueled my private thoughts that night; my mind undressing him while my hands slid over my body. I came with his name on my lips and the blood pounding in my veins. I didn't recognize the beginning of a long and frustrating pattern.

I could hardly wait until the next afternoon so I could see him again. I was the first to arrive at the lecture hall and the last to leave. Again, he invited me to join him for dinner. The same diner, the same table, a laughing comment about our spot and I was flying. The same silent walk to his car. The same drive to my apartment. This time he didn't have to tell me to wait. I sat, feeling a little silly, until he came around and opened the door, extending his hand to help me out of the car. Tonight he kept his hand hovering just at the base of my spine. Not touching me, just a whisper of feeling along my nerve endings. Again, he shook my hand, lingering a little longer than was polite. I almost invited him in. I really wanted to invite him in. Just as my mouth opened he released me and the spell was broken.

The third and final lecture and again I showed up first. I greeted Grissom with a smile and a hello. He grinned at me in this crooked way he has and my heart stuttered in my chest. Dropping my eyes, lest he read something in my gaze, I settled into my seat. He continued to set up for the lecture while I doodled in my notebook. I jumped in surprise when a slip of paper slid across the surface in front of me. I looked up to see his broad back, narrow waist and tight behind as he walked away. I let my eyes linger, appreciating the view. I unfolded the paper and found an email address and several telephone numbers. This time when I raised my eyes it was to find him watching me with a hint of male confidence tempered by an abundance of hesitance. A smile slid slowly across my face and he gave me one in return. Before I had a chance to say anything a group of undergrads came in. The room filled quickly and the lecture started and ended before I realized what was happening. For the final time, I waited until everyone else had left.

While we were sitting at the diner drinking coffee and eating apple pie that he asked me out. He gestured around us and mumbled something about taking me someplace a little more upscale. Even knowing he was leaving, I agreed. Later that night we repeated the ritual of walking to his car and him driving me home. Tonight his hand rested firmly on my back as we made our way to the door. He lingered there, holding both my hands, his eyes searching my face. My heart was racing. I could feel it pounding in my chest. I wanted him to kiss me, wanted to feel his hands on me. When he leaned forward my breath caught in my throat. Then I felt his lips brush my cheek and his fingers tighten around mine. I sighed. He pulled back, looking like he had done something wrong. I shook my head, smiling to let him know it was alright.

The next evening, at six-thirty on the dot, the buzzer sounded. I unlocked the door and let him in. When I opened my apartment door I couldn't breathe. There stood the most handsome man I'd ever seen wearing a charcoal grey suit that screamed custom made. His shirt was crisp and white and his tie a bright red. I stared, unable to take my eyes off him, until he blushed. With an answering blush rising on my cheeks I began babbling in an attempt to fill the awkward silence. When I saw a smile flit over his lips I started to grin. And then we were laughing and the nerves were gone.

Dinner was wonderful. I'd never met a man I enjoyed talking to as much as I did Grissom. We had so much to say and so little time to say it. I finally understood the word bittersweet. When he asked me to take a walk after dinner I couldn't say no. I wasn't ready to let him go. Bypassing the bars filled with drunken students, we stopped at a tiny coffee shop just off campus. A cup of coffee later and we were on the way back to my apartment. I was quiet during the drive, a sense of melancholy settling over me. This time he didn't stop at the lobby. He walked me to my front door. We stood in the hallway, neither really knowing what to say, smiling and trying to pretend his leaving was what we both wanted. I asked him in and he declined. I thought I saw regret in his eyes but it was just a flash. I could've been wrong. Just as I started to feel weird he reached up and cupped my cheek with his hand. He mumbled something about wanting to kiss me but knowing his limits. Instead he brushed his lips over my cheek and, with admonitions to call or email, he was gone.

Four days is all it took. I'd been alive for eight thousand seven hundred and thirty days without ever feeling what he made me feel. I fell in love with him in four days. And in the three thousand six hundred and fifty days since nothing - and everything - has changed.


	2. Chapter 2

Defining Moments

Grissom's Story

A/N: Thanks to Cropper for the beta. And to Doris and Kaye for the encouragement.

Disclaimer: Not mine. That's all.

In everyone's life there are defining moments. Moments that can change a person's view of the world. Life is divided into segments by these milestones. I hear it every day; people saying things like, "Before the accident", "Before I was laid off", "Before my mother killed my father", "After my surgery". One of mine was the day, the minute, the very _second_, I met Sara Sidle.

It was a day unremarkable for its resemblance to the one before. The sun was shining, birds chirping, people laughing and talking. Little did I know when I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the coffee pot this day would mark the beginning of a new direction for me. I was in California to give a three day series of lectures on forensics. I wasn't really looking forward to it. The first day is usually filled with curiosity seekers. People there only for the morbid thrill of seeing pictures of dead bodies. It was a rare thing to find someone who was truly interested in the subject. I'd resigned myself to a typical first day when a young woman sauntered in and took a seat in the front row. Suddenly, things were looking up. She was built like a super model, long and lean, and when she sat down I was treated to miles of slender legs. She distracted me for just a moment and I dropped my notes. I cursed quietly and thought I heard a snort of laughter from her. When I stepped behind the lectern and introduced myself as Dr. Grissom I saw her eyes widen in surprise. Not understanding her reaction I felt my eyebrow rise in a silent question. That was the first time I saw her brow furrow in confusion, a look I'd come to associate with the formidable mind of a beautiful woman.

I always start by telling a joke and that day was no exception. I've attended, and presented at, many lectures, seminars and training sessions. Each and every one starts out with a joke. I think it helps to break the ice, let people know I'm not too stodgy. I vaguely remember polite laughter and nervous shuffling all around me. But the thing that sticks in my mind is the bemused expression on her face. I surprised myself by catching her gaze and giving her a wink. I was flirting with a college student while standing in front of a full lecture hall. She gave me a smile – like we were sharing a private joke that was much funnier than the one I'd just told. It was in that moment, that single breath, I knew this woman would change my life.

I began my presentation, trying to get lost in the familiar material. Every time I got close to that comfortable rhythm I'd catch a glimpse of the girl in the front row. She had the most expressive face. Her eyes would narrow in confusion, her brow pucker in concentration or her lips turn up in a smile. She'd nod when she understood or shake her head when she didn't. And she took copious notes, her pen scratching across the paper in a continuous scrawl. I was amazed that she seemed so involved in what I was saying. It's a rare but pleasant thing to find someone interested in my line of work. It didn't hurt that she was so physically appealing. I expected her to have a lot of questions but when I opened the floor she just sat there. I was strangely disappointed. Maybe I'd been wrong about her interest. I realized that she could've been writing a grocery list or a paper for a class or anything for that matter.

I dismissed the group and began patiently answering questions from people who, for one reason or another, wanted to talk to me one on one. Still the woman in the front row didn't move. As had been the case all afternoon, I was strangely aware of her. She was sitting there reading over what she'd written in no apparent hurry to leave. I was packing my notes when I sensed her presence. There was an energy that seemed to radiate from her, almost like a vibration on the very air around me. I continued to gather my things, needing a moment to collect my thoughts before talking to her. Belatedly thinking she'd find me rude I looked up.

I asked if she had any questions or comments and she just stared. Maybe she wasn't there to talk about the lecture. I felt a little thrill before a clamped down on my overactive imagination. I reached for my briefcase so that I could leave. Then she blushed and stuck out her hand, introducing herself as Sara Sidle. I reached out and wrapped her slender hand in mine and something odd happened. I felt a jolt, almost like an electrical surge, that had my eyes widening in surprise. I kept my gaze on her while her eyes flitted between my face and our hands. When I saw a flush rise up from her collar and her eyes go a little soft I realized that she felt it too. I was aroused, not embarrassingly so, but aroused none the less. Suddenly, there was not enough air in the room.

We stood there uncomfortably for a just a few seconds before she tugged her hand out of mine. She began asking questions. Why, why, why? Very thoughtful, insightful questions that made me think before I answered. I was amazed by her mind as well as her voice. It had this strange lilting quality that placed emphasis in odd places; a little musical, a lot sexy. I would have stood there all night engaging in our give and take but my stomach growled. I hadn't eaten in almost eight hours. For some reason this seemed to embarrass Sara and she began to apologize for keeping me so long. She was headed for the door when I called her name. I don't know what made me do it. There were a hundred good reasons not to. But when she stopped and looked back I asked if she was hungry. She nodded and a few minutes later we were sitting in a booth at a small diner about two blocks from campus eating cheeseburgers and fries. The conversation was animated and covered a myriad of topics. I think it was while I was describing my first autopsy in intricate detail that I realized how beautiful she was.

I was having so much fun just being with Sara that I was dismayed at the yawn that escaped me. It was almost midnight and my sleep patterns were really messed up. I was exhausted. When I suggested that we call it a night, she began to rummage through her purse. I wasn't sure what she was looking for so I picked up the ticket and headed for the cashier. She walked up and slapped ten dollars down on the counter beside the register. Shaking my head in disbelief at her show of independence I paid the bill. She thanked me and I held the door for her. Her look let me know she didn't get that kind of treatment very often.

We walked to my car in silence. I felt a little awkward. I was so attracted to her. I knew it would be inappropriate for me to act on that but couldn't help thinking about it. We reached the car and she made to shake my hand. I shook my head and asked her to get in the car. She protested, saying that she felt safe on campus and would be fine. I waited until she ran out of reasons and then gestured for her to get in. Following the directions she gave I pulled up in front of her apartment a few short minutes later. She started to open the door and something came over me. I touched her arm, asking her to wait. Then I climbed out and walked around to open the door for her. When she stepped out of the car she had the most beautiful smile on her face. I think my chest might have swelled just a little because I was the one who put that smile there. I walked her to the front door of her building, shook her hand and said goodnight.

As I made my way back to the hotel all my thoughts were on the woman I had left standing in the lobby of that apartment building. Who was she? Did she feel the same connection I did? What would her lips taste like? I was half in awe, half in love and totally, one hundred percent curious. My dreams were filled with Sara; talking, laughing, eyes sparkling. Sometime during the night they morphed into something more sensual, not sex but something intimate. I awoke with an odd desire to touch her, talk to her, hear her laugh. I was aroused but it was tempered by a feeling I could not name.

Sara was the first to arrive at the lecture hall and the last to leave. Just like the night before, a dinner invitation that I hadn't intended popped out. The same diner, the same table, a laughing comment about our spot and I saw her eyes brighten. I realized then the power I had. The same silent walk to my car. The same drive to her apartment. This time she sat until I came around and opened the door. My hand hovered just at the base of her spine. Not touching, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. I shook her hand again but found it harder to let go. I know I held on a little longer than was polite. It was very hard to walk away. I didn't realize that was the beginning of a long and frustrating pattern.

The third day Sara sailed in and gave me a smile and a hello. When I saw her I knew I wanted to keep in touch. I wasn't prepared to never see or speak to her again. She was sitting in her seat, doodling in a notebook, waiting for me to start. I set up the last of my slides and shuffled my notes, all the while working up the courage to make the next move. I think she jumped when I slid the paper across the surface in front of her. I'm really not sure because I turned and beat a hasty retreat. When I looked back, she was reading the note that contained my phone numbers and email address. The smile she gave me let me know I hadn't overstepped. I caught myself grinning at her like an idiot. She opened her mouth to speak but a group of undergrads came in and the moment was lost.

It was while we were sitting at the diner drinking coffee and eating apple pie that I asked her out. I waved my hand around and mumbled something about a more upscale establishment. Even knowing I had to leave didn't stop me. I wanted to see her again. Later that night we performed the ritual of walking to the car and driving to her apartment. This time I rested my hand firmly on her back. We lingered there, her hands in mine. I studied her eyes, looking for a reaction, an idea of how she felt. I heard her gasp when I bent forward and brushed my lips across her cheek. She gave a tiny sigh almost like she was disappointed. I opened my mouth to apologize but she smiled. I knew everything was okay and tried not to let my relief show. Hopefully, she never realized how much her acceptance of that little gesture meant to me.

The next evening, I pressed the button for her apartment at six-thirty on the dot. She buzzed me in and I made my way to her front door. When she answered my knock I was shocked. She had captivated me in jeans and t-shirts but like this she stole my breath. The dress was red and short and form-fitting. The shoes were strappy and high-heeled. And between the hem of the dress and the floor were acres of the most beautiful legs I had ever seen. I stared, unable to take my eyes off her, until she blushed. With an answering blush rising on my cheeks I listened to her attempt to fill the awkward silence. I had to smile. She started to grin and then we were laughing and the nerves were gone.

Dinner was wonderful. Aside from being with the most beautiful woman in the room, I was with a woman to whom I enjoyed talking. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the knowledge that we were running out of time. I wasn't ready for the night to end. We took a walk, bypassing the bars filled with drunken students, and stopped at a tiny coffee shop just off campus. A cup of coffee later and we were on the way back to her apartment. She was very quiet during the drive. I kept sneaking glances at her. She appeared melancholy, a look I had not seen on her up until now. Tonight I walked her to her door. I would have done anything to drag this moment out. We stood in the hallway, neither really knowing what to say, smiling and trying to pretend that my leaving was what we both wanted. She asked me in and I declined. I saw a flash of hurt in her brown eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared it was gone. Realizing I couldn't stand there with her forever I reached up and placed my hand on her cheek, sliding my thumb along her cheekbone, loving the softness of her skin. I wanted to kiss her, may have mumbled something to that effect. But, knowing my limits, I brushed my lips over her cheek. Telling her, imploring her, to call or email, I left.

Four days is all it took. I'd been alive for thirteen thousand five hundred and five days without ever feeling what she made me feel. I fell in love with her in four days. And in the four thousand three hundred and eighty days since nothing – and everything - has changed.


	3. Chapter 3

Defining Moments

Chapter 2 – Sara's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. That's all I have to say.

A/N: Thanks to Cropper for the beta and to Doris for the support.

I waited ten days. I didn't want to appear too eager so I waited ten days before I sent him an email. It was a very long week and a half. There were a dozen little moments I wanted to share with him; moments I found humorous or interesting, moments that brought him to mind. During the day I worked, attended classes or went to the library. At night I dreamed of him; his eyes, his smile, his voice. By day nine, I was cranky and miserable. I didn't think I could survive another minute without contacting him. Still I waited. On the morning of day ten my friend Julie told me to talk to the 'old guy' if that would help me lose the attitude. Faced with that little bit of information I gave in.

The missive was formal, almost stilted, nothing like me. I thanked him for dinner, told him how much I enjoyed meeting him. I gushed a bit over the lectures and how much I had learned. I typed my telephone number at the bottom and, before I could change my mind, hit send. It was done. Now it got even harder. Now I waited for a reply. For as long as I hadn't tried to contact him I could believe he would respond. The reality was much scarier than anything I could have imagined. Fortunately for me, and Julie, I didn't have to wait long.

I opened my inbox on day eleven and there it was. An email was waiting for me from one Gil Grissom. My stomach did a slow flip. I slid my cursor over the name; index finger poised on the button, and hesitated. I remember being afraid he would brush me off, that he had realized his mistake as soon as the plane left the runway. I released the mouse and covered my face with my hands. After a moment I reached forward and clicked the document open. I believe I was picturing ripping off a band-aid, quicker is easier. A smile split my face as I started to read.

Sara,

It was very good to hear from you. I am glad you enjoyed our dinner. I had a wonderful time, also. It is nice that you were able to find information in my lectures that you were interested in. You are a remarkable young woman; incredibly intelligent, articulate and engaging. I enjoyed our talks. Please let me know if you ever need anything. Also, if you have the time and inclination, you should check out the American Journal of Forensics from June. There is an article there on bullet trajectory I'm sure you would enjoy.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Grissom

I hit the print button and, as I folded the note and slipped it in my wallet, told myself I wanted it for the reference. A couple of days later I found time to go to the library and look up the article he mentioned. Of course, I felt compelled to let him know I had read it. I shot off another email, filled with my thoughts and questions. A day later he replied. And so it began. He would send me articles or case studies and I would send him questions and ideas. He never disappointed me. He always answered anything I asked. I just didn't realize I was asking the wrong questions. I kept a copy of each email. I told myself, and Julie, it was for the scientific information only.

We talked too. For some reason the conversations seemed less natural than the written exchanges. I never asked why he didn't like to talk on the phone, just chalked it up to his being male. The day I submitted my application to the San Francisco Crime Lab I called to tell him. He was very excited, offering to call the director, laughing at my nervousness. He seemed to feel I had chosen the career path because of his influence. I never told him it was really because of my parents. But then he never asked either.

Things were good. I had a job I loved, friends I could count on and, despite my lingering feelings for Grissom, a very active social calendar. Then Holly Gribbs was shot and my life changed again. Hard to think of a stranger's misfortune as something that altered my course but that's just what happened. When Grissom called me he sounded different. I couldn't put a finger on it but over the years I would come to know that tone well. He needed me. I almost didn't ask why. It didn't matter why. Satan himself couldn't have stopped me from getting to Las Vegas. A call to my supervisor and one to the airline and I was on my way.

I found him outside the Hotel Monaco, watching as someone threw dummies off the roof. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, cheering as each body hit the ground. I was grateful for the sunglasses hiding my eyes. It would have been embarrassing for all those people to see me checking him out. He looked good, really good. I wanted to touch him; to walk right up and fling my arms around him. He was talking to himself as he took pictures of the position of the dummies on the sidewalk. I made some silly crack about being married to Mrs. Roper and Grissom straightened up. He knew it was me without even looking - recognized my voice and I couldn't stop grinning. From the second I laid eyes on Grissom, bent over the simulation dummies in the hot Vegas sun, my life in San Francisco was forgotten.

It was a long week. We all worked horrendous hours to solve the murder of a fellow officer. That didn't include the hours I spent trying to track Warrick Brown's movements for the night of the shooting. I was Grissom's snitch and the rest of the team treated me like one. The only thing that kept me going was the memory of Grissom's comment about 'unanswered whys'. He sounded so tired, so confused and so heartbroken that I wanted to solve the case for him. It was the first time I wasn't really working for the victim.

The only thing I could do when he asked me to stay was say yes. Everything I wanted was in Las Vegas. Of course he never said we would be together. It was more of an implication. There was a lot of talk about 'enjoy having you here' and "great to see you'. Maybe I read more into it than he intended. Maybe it was what I wanted to believe. Maybe I was too young, too idealistic or too hopeful. Whatever the case, I was hooked. A few weeks later, with a smile on my face and hope in my heart, I drove from my city by the bay straight into my own personal hell.

I'm not sure what happened. I left Vegas with the feeling that we were going to be together but when I got back things were different, he was different. He still flirted with me but there was a distance that hadn't been there a month before. It was as if the last four years had never happened. All the long talks and romantic dinners I had envisioned never happened. We were caught in a macabre dance, attraction pulling us together and circumstances forcing us apart.

The first thing Grissom and I disagreed about was Warrick. I did my job. I found out why he left Holly at that scene. I gave it all to Grissom. Handed it to him on a silver platter and he ignored it. He never missed a chance to tell us to follow the evidence because it never lies and then he pretends it doesn't exist. That move made me rethink a few things, actually made me question his motives for calling me in the first place. I never told him or at least not in so many words. When I look back, there are a lot of things we never said.

A crime lab is like any other place of business. The rumor mill runs day and night. I heard Grissom had been out with Teri Miller and, despite the fact that I had dated other men, it hurt. I didn't think he had lived like a monk before I moved to town. But I was here and he was here and why weren't we together? Of course, I had my answer. All I had to do was look at her. She was cool, with sleek blonde hair and porcelain skin. She was everything I was not and my heart broke just a little every time I saw her in the lab. To make matters even worse the whole team knew how I felt and I had to deal with their pity.

That first year in Vegas was an awakening for me in many ways. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to do a good job. I wanted to make Grissom proud, make him glad he'd asked me to stay. But life is funny. It seemed, no matter what I did, I was the outsider, always competing for my place in the pecking order. There were days I wanted to just say 'screw it' and go back to San Francisco. There were days I wanted to grab Grissom and either kiss him senseless or demand an explanation – a reason for his sudden reversal. Then there would be a little something that let me know he was still attracted to me. Like a cactus during a brief thunderstorm, I would draw that nourishment in and hold it there for the dry spells.

I struggled that first year. So many of the cases, domestic violence especially, touched a nerve that was already a too raw. Abusive husbands, rape, murder, everything seemed to weigh on my mind. I became emotionally involved. I couldn't turn it off like Grissom did, like he expected. That's when the nightmares started. There are memories from that year I will carry with me forever. Kaye Shelton and Pam Adler still appear in my dreams. I still wake up in a cold sweat with their screams ringing in my head. I have come to accept it as the price of doing the job.

I guess we all have certain cases that get under our skin - even Grissom. His thing is kids. Any crime involving children eats at him. I may never forget the look in his eyes as he carried the body of the Anderson baby in his arms. The first time I ever felt the burn of Grissom's anger was during that case. It was the first time since I'd arrived that I saw the man I'd met at Berkley and not the cold, detached scientist I'd found in Vegas.

I hadn't been a CSI for very long when Grissom called me so I hadn't been exposed to a lot of the more horrific acts people perpetrate against their fellow man. Working in Vegas opened my eyes. I didn't know how to deal with it and I was working without a net. I had already started on a downward spiral when the FBI came in and took over the Strip Strangler case. I was feeling so helpless, like nothing we ever did mattered. I needed to feel like I was fighting crime instead of cleaning up after it. I know now how stupid I was. Grissom knew then.

I thought at the time he was mad about my decision to bait the killer. But when he walked into a confrontation with Syd Goggle without a weapon or backup and I realized he could have been killed I understood. He wasn't angry. He was scared. I remember the look in his eyes when he ran up to me in that grocery store. The fear was there but lurking just under that was love. For just a second I saw it and it fed something in me. It gave me something to hold on to, something to make the pain a little more bearable. It gave me something to push back the demons.


	4. Chapter 4

Defining Moments

Chapter 2 – Grissom's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. That's all I have to say.

A/N: Thanks to Cropper for the beta and to Doris for the support.

I waited ten days. I had begun to believe that she wasn't going to contact me. I spent ten days trying to convince myself I wouldn't care if she didn't. It was a very long week and a half. There were a dozen little moments I wanted to share with her; moments I found humorous or interesting, moments that brought her to mind. During the day I slept, dreams of her taunting me. Visions of her smile, her voice, and her legs roamed freely through my subconscious. At night I worked. But even that was interrupted by thoughts of Sara. By day nine, I was cranky and miserable. I didn't think I would survive another minute without using my sources to find her phone number. Still I waited. On the afternoon of day ten my patience was rewarded.

Grissom,

It was a pleasure to meet you. I enjoyed your lectures and feel that I learned a lot. I know there is so much more to learn and am truly fascinated by what you do. I appreciate all the extra time you spent with me, answering my questions and listening to me rattle on. I wanted to thank you again for the dinners – especially the last one. I had a wonderful time. If you are ever in the area look me up. I would enjoy seeing you again.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sara

The missive was a little formal, nothing like the girl I knew. I still smiled as I read it; a true smile that made it all the way to my eyes. When I saw that she had included her phone number I felt the smile reach my heart. I printed out the note and tucked it in my wallet. I told myself it was because I wanted to mentor her. I think, for a second, I almost believed it. As if to prove that to myself, I replied to her message with an equally formal one of my own. I included a reference to the American Journal of Forensics. There had been an article on bullet trajectory that I thought would appeal to the physicist in her. Now it got even harder. Now I waited for a reply.

A couple of days later she responded. She had been to the library and read the article. This time her email was filled with questions and ideas. This was the Sara I knew, her mind running a thousand miles an hour, forcing me to think, to search for answers. I shot off a reply. And so it began. We traded emails that touched on a variety of topics. I would see an article or a case study that I thought would capture her interest and I would send the reference. She never disappointed me. She was always there with her undying thirst for knowledge. She always kept her inquiries limited to science, never straying into things I considered personal.

We talked too. For reasons Sara knew nothing about the conversations seemed less natural than the written exchanges. I never explained why I didn't like to talk on the phone but she never asked. I remember the day she called to tell me she had submitted her application to the San Francisco Crime Lab. She was so excited and so nervous. I offered to call the director who just happened to be a friend of mine. I felt a certain responsibility since I had obviously influenced her career choice. I didn't know then how wrong I was but then I didn't ask either.

Things were good. I had a job I loved. I was comfortable with my place in life. I went on the occasional date. I just couldn't find a woman who understood me. They didn't get my humor. They didn't understand my commitment to my job. They didn't have that sweet little gap between their teeth. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but I missed Sara. I never asked but I'm sure she dated other men, probably even slept with some of them. But, despite the occasional date, I spent every night alone. I didn't know why at the time but the idea of having sex with any of those women felt like cheating.

Then Holly Gribbs was shot and my life changed again. I called Sara. I didn't know what else to do. I felt like everything was falling in around me. I trusted her to hold the wolves at bay. I called and she was there within twenty-four hours. I didn't have time to stop and examine my motives or hers. It didn't matter why it was her I needed, it just was. I would have done anything, given anything, to get her to Las Vegas.

She found me outside the Hotel Monaco, watching as Nick threw dummies off the roof. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, cheering as each body hit the ground. I was bent over checking the positioning of each dummy, taking photos for the case file when she made some silly crack about being married to Mrs. Roper. I recognized her voice and I couldn't stop grinning. It was the first smile that had crossed my lips since the shooting. She looked fantastic. Then I realized everybody could see my eyes sliding over her like a caress. I wanted to touch her; to walk right up and pull her into my arms and kiss her until everything returned to normal. From the second I laid eyes on Sara, with the sun shining on her hair and that smile lighting her face, everything in my world seemed to come into focus.

It was a long week. We all worked horrendous hours to solve the murder of a fellow officer. Sara worked more than anyone else because she was also trying to track Warrick's movements on the night of the shooting. The team saw her as my snitch. I felt guilty about bringing her in to investigate one of our own. I felt guilty about the way the rest of the team treated her. But she was the only one I wanted to find the answers to my whys. I was so tired, so confused and so heartbroken that I just wanted the case solved. My loyalties were divided between Holly and Warrick and Sara was the only person I trusted with something that close to my heart.

The only thing I could do when Holly's murderer had been caught was ask Sara to stay. Everything I wanted was about to leave and go back to San Francisco and I couldn't let that to happen. Of course I didn't know at the time how things would change. In my ignorance I thought we would be together. I didn't realize my temporary stint as shift supervisor would become permanent. By the time she came back I was waist deep in paperwork and politics and rules and the tide was rising. I had good intentions. But all those are used for is paving a path to hell. And for some reason I was driving as fast as I could straight toward a date with Satan.

I still flirted with her. I couldn't help myself. I tried to distance myself from her, tried to make it professional. But then she would smile at me, or stand close to look at an experiment and I was lost. The smell of her, the sound of her voice, everything about her, spoke to me in a way no one ever had. Everything that had transpired over the last four years coalesced in those first few months. I wanted her and couldn't have her and didn't know how to tell her. We were caught in a macabre dance, attraction pulling us together and circumstances forcing us apart.

The first thing Sara and I disagreed about was Warrick. She did what I asked her to do. She found out why he left Holly at that scene. She handed Warrick to me on a silver platter. But I knew Warrick. I couldn't stand to see him lose everything he had worked for over something we had all done before. I don't mean the gambling. But we had all left someone alone at a scene at some point. I think Sara felt that I ignored her work. I could see the accusation in her eyes when I would tell her to follow the evidence because it never lies. Oh how Sara's eyes could wound me. Maybe I owed her an explanation but I wasn't sure I even had one and after a while it seemed like too little too late. When I look back, there are a lot of things we should have said that we never did.

A crime lab is like any other place of business. The rumor mill runs day and night. I know she heard about Teri Miller. Not the truth but some twisted version that blew things totally out of proportion. I wanted to tell Sara that it meant nothing. That I didn't sleep with Teri. That I was just trying to take my mind off her. Knowing that Sara hadn't been celibate since we met hurt. But what hurt even more was to have her within arms reach and not be able to do anything about it. Teri is, undeniably, a beautiful woman. But she is nothing like Sara. Teri's beauty is physical. Sara, on the other hand, is not only amazing to look at but is a warm and caring individual. Teri was a poor substitute for the one thing I couldn't have.

Sara's first year in Vegas was an awakening for me in many ways. I watched her flounder and did nothing to help. She worked hard, always trying to be better than everyone else. On a professional level I was glad I'd asked her to stay. But life is funny. No matter how hard she worked, I always pushed her harder, expected more from her. I told myself I was protecting her from gossip and innuendo when I was actually protecting me. There were days I wanted to just say 'screw it' and tell her to go back to San Francisco where she could be happy. There were days I wanted to grab Sara and love her until we were both senseless. I tried to hide how I felt. But sometimes I just couldn't. I would be captivated by the curve of her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo, the sparkle in her eye and somehow she would know. I realize how selfish I was then.

Sara struggled that first year. I knew nothing of her past so I didn't know how she suffered over domestic violence cases. She scared me because they all seemed so personal for her. Abusive husbands, rape and murder – she became emotionally involved with every victim. I tried to tell her to turn it off. She seemed to think I was disappointed that she couldn't. That wasn't the case. I just wanted to comfort her and that wasn't possible. I did the only thing I could. I worked harder, fought harder, to solve the cases that fed her nightmares. There are memories from that year I will carry with me forever. Sara's torment over Kaye Shelton and Pam Adler still appears in my dreams. I have come to accept it as the price of loving her.

She thought I didn't feel. She told me I didn't feel. That wasn't true either. I have cases that haunt me too. My thing is kids. Any crime involving children makes me sick. I will never forget the way the Anderson baby felt in my arms; so tiny, so cold. I think that was the second time I disappointed Sara. For all my posturing I couldn't let that one go. That was the first time I ever got mad at Sara. She was trying to help, trying to rein me in. I was out of control and I shouted at her. It wasn't until years later that I realized she wasn't disappointed, she was relieved. It was the first time since she'd arrived that I resembled passionate scientist she'd met at Berkley and not the cold, detached supervisor I had become.

I knew she hadn't been a CSI for very long when I called her. What I didn't know what how vulnerable she was. She wanted to save the world. Such idealism had no place in law enforcement. We see so much. People never cease to amaze me with their cruelty toward their fellow man. I think she expected me to be her safety net. I'm not really sure. All I knew was that she was sliding fast and I didn't know how to save her.

When the FBI came in and took over the Strip Strangler case Sara volunteered to be bait for a killer. My gut was twisted in a knot. It wasn't until I was almost killed by the same suspect that she understood what I already knew. I could see it all in her eyes. She was angry. She was scared. But lurking just under that was love. For the first time I allowed myself to see it and it fed something in me. It gave me something to hold on to, something to make the pain a little more bearable. It gave me something to push back the demons.


	5. Chapter 5

Defining Moments

Chapter 3 – Sara's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. That's all I have to say.

A/N: Thanks to Doris and Jill for the beta. All help is muchly appreciated. Spoilers for Season 2.

Without a doubt, unrequited love sucks. There is nothing harder to take than rejection, real or implied, by the person you most want to love you. Gil Grissom was the king of the rejection game. The man had raised emotional torment to an art form. He seemed to take pleasure in my pain. I loved him and I hated him and I couldn't find a way out of the cycle I was caught in.

Professionally I had started to settle in. I was stretching my legs, making my own decisions. I was, and still am, a damned good CSI. I worked hard – too hard most of the time. At that point in my life I really stretched the boundaries of common sense. I maxed out on overtime every month. I pushed myself like that because it was the only thing I knew would capture Grissom's attention. Compliments became something he doled out like peanuts on an airplane; too little to do any good. The saddest part of that was my gratitude when those nuggets were thrown my way.

Personally I floundered. I had no friends. The graveyard shift was tight knit and they still didn't seem overly excited about letting me in. I was lonely – surrounded by people and so lonely it hurt. I've never been a social butterfly but this was taking it to new levels. I worked, I slept and I worked some more. I didn't go out. I didn't have any reason to since the one person I wanted to do things with was out of reach. I had a telephone and a computer. Everything I needed was at my fingertips. Besides, what is more pathetic than a woman eating alone in a restaurant except a woman drinking alone in a bar? I guess I figured it was better to be alone at home than pitied in public.

It wasn't until Donna Marks came along that I realized how much I had cut myself off from other people. She lived alone. Her refrigerator was filled with takeout leftovers. Her house was full of mail order catalogs. She had no friends. She could have been me. As I sifted through her things I mentally compared the two of us. It scared me to realize that I was headed down the same road, that I didn't have a life. I had only been fooling myself.

There was one big difference between Donna and me. She had the guts to express her feelings. Me? Not so much. I should have had the nerve to tell Grissom that my life began when I heard his voice or something a little less needy. I know he could hear the longing as I read that email out loud. I wanted to tell him that it was true for me but I hesitated. And then the moment was lost. I felt like such a coward. Here was a woman who was afraid to leave her house but had no problem telling a man she had never met that he is everything to her, that the sound of his voice gave her life new meaning. I had the opportunity to look Grissom in the eye and tell him how I felt and I couldn't.

The night we closed Donna's case I made another decision that would cause me more pain. In an effort to find the life Grissom had told me to get, I threw out all my menus and catalogs. Then I called Hank. Hank Peddigrew: tall, blonde, cute and deceiving. I didn't know he was a liar then and wouldn't find out for almost a year. I was determined to get out and live and he was there. I needed to know that I was attractive. I needed to know that I was wanted. And if I couldn't be with the man I wanted I could be with Hank.

Oh I continued to wear my heart on my sleeve as far as Grissom was concerned. I still wanted him, sometimes with a visceral ache; still loved him with a passion even I didn't understand. I remember the night I touched him at a crime scene. We had been working so hard and we were getting nowhere. We were literally tearing this building apart with sledge hammers. Grissom was on the edge, close to snapping, and I touched his cheek. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to hold him. But again I settled.

The touch really threw him for a loop. He seemed to have forgotten when he was the one touching, when he was the one worried. This time he saw the truth in my eyes. He had to. He tried to pretend he believed that crap about chalk on his face. But _I knew_ that _he knew_ that I touched him for personal reasons, reasons that had nothing to do with a little dirt and everything to do with offering comfort through physical contact.

The push and pull between us was a constant thing. I would like to think he didn't know he was hurting me but I really believe he did. He's not a cruel person. I know he thought he was doing what was best, what was necessary to put some distance between us. I chose to think that he was being noble instead of self-serving. The real problem became his lack of respect for me professionally. I could take the personal crap. Not that I deserved it but I could understand it. However, it was the intimation that I was a lackey, there to do his bidding and clean up his messes, which sent me over the edge.

I made up my mind. I was tired of sacrificing my self-respect. I put in for a leave of absence. I confronted him. And he laughed at me. He laughed at me for leaving the 'number one lab in the country' to try a job with the federal government. He chose to ignore his responsibility behind my decision. He treated me like I was a little kid begging for his attention. Maybe I was. But that was the day I realized Grissom could be a pompous ass when he chose to be. I threatened to quit and watched his eyes widen in shock, watched the fear flit across his face. For a second, one tiny moment, I thought he was going to ask me to stay. Instead he gave me some bullshit about the lab needing me. His pedestal was rocking and he was starting to lose his balance.

When I showed up at work the next night there was a plant waiting for me. Not roses, not even wildflowers. Nope. I got a fucking plant with a card that read 'From Grissom'. Damn! But how could I stay mad? How could I leave? There was a breakfast and a brief, yet frank, discussion of why I wanted to go. He apologized. I caved. Life kept moving. A few weeks later, he told me I was beautiful. I couldn't have been more shocked if he shown up at work naked. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I did neither.

Things settled down between us. We seemed to have reached a place where we could work together. Some of the old magic came back. The synchronicity. The 'geek mind meld'. I loved working with Grissom. There was something undeniable between us. No need for words. No need for the things we weren't good at. Only the evidence, the detritus of a crime, was between us and we understood that.

I still dreamed of him. My heart still ached. My body still yearned for his. Just standing close to him was enough to make me weak with longing. He felt it too. I know he did. I could see his eyes darken. I could hear the hitch in his breathing. He could control a lot but he couldn't control a physiological response. There were times when I would stand too close, my body brushing his, just so I could feel his warmth. And there were just as many times he would crowd me, pressing against my back and nestling his cheek next to mine. It was as if he couldn't get close enough, couldn't handle even a millimeter of space between us. I relished that infinitesimal loss of control, continued to be amazed at how that moved me. I captured those moments in my memory, taking them out when I was alone and using them to fuel my fantasies.

Again, unrequited love sucks. And I loved Gil Grissom.


	6. Chapter 6

Defining Moments

Chapter 3 – Grissom's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. That's all I have to say.

A/N: Thanks to Doris and Jill for the beta. All help is muchly appreciated.

Without a doubt, unrequited love sucks. There is nothing harder than to reject the one person in the world that you love most. I became the king of the rejection game even though I didn't like it one bit. As hard as it was for me I knew it was worse for Sara. I felt that I had raised emotional torment, mine and hers, to an art form. Yet I found some sort of pleasure in my pain. Like picking at a sore, it became a constant reminder that I could feel. My cowardice was destroying us both but I couldn't find a way out of the cycle I was caught in.

Professionally I was where I thought I needed to be. I was a member of a very elite group, one of fifteen in the country to be exact. I was supervising an incredible team of people. I had a reputation that I had cultivated carefully. My opinion and expertise were sought after. I had accomplished what I set out to do. I worked hard – too hard most of the time. I was allowing the work to consume me so that I didn't have to think about anything else.

Personally I floundered. I distanced myself from the people around me. I was lonely – surrounded by people and so lonely it hurt. I'd never been an extrovert but even I recognized the withdrawal. I worked, I slept and I worked some more. I didn't go out. I didn't have any reason to. The one person I wanted to go out with was beyond my reach. I began to shut myself off so that I wasn't consumed by the pain of it all. I even began to lose touch with the members of my team. Compliments became something I doled out like peanuts on an airplane; too little to do any good. I didn't like the new me. And somehow, someway, I blamed this all on Sara.

Seems like everyone I met during that time wanted to know something about me, wanted some insight into my very soul. There was the priest, Father Powell, asking about my religious beliefs. There was Heather trying to convince me that she understood me, telling me that I was afraid of letting people know me. She thought she saw the same kink in me that she carried around in her. But that was so far from, yet close to, the truth as to be laughable. I didn't need the horror of what had been done to that girl to know releasing those demons could be dangerous. Neither of them had any idea how their prying made me feel. They didn't realize they were reinforcing my fears. Neither of them really cared.

Sara continued to haunt me. I knew how she felt. No words were needed to tell me that she still fancied herself in love with me because I still fancied myself in love with her. When Donna Marks was killed Sara identified with her. I identified with her too. We were all hermits, afraid of life in one way or another. But Donna had one thing that neither Sara nor I possessed. Courage. She had the guts to express her feelings.

I should have had the nerve to tell Sara that my life began when I heard her voice. I should be so eloquent. I know that she was trying to hide how she felt for me but she failed miserably most days. I could hear the longing as she read that email out loud. We were both so caught up in our own insecurities that we were afraid to speak. And then the moment was lost. I was such a coward. But, as Sara pointed out, wearing your heart on your sleeve is easy when the other person can't see you.

I continued to try to hide my feelings for Sara. I still wanted her, sometimes with a visceral ache; still loved her sometimes to my own chagrin. I remember the night she touched me at a crime scene. We had been working so hard and we were getting nowhere. We were literally tearing this building apart with sledge hammers. I was on the edge, close to snapping, and she touched my cheek.

I could see the softness in her eyes; see her need to offer me comfort. I hadn't forgotten when I was the one touching, when I was the one worried. I didn't know what to do so I pretended to believe her excuse. She told me I had chalk on my face. But _she knew_ that _I knew_ that she touched me for personal reasons, reasons that had nothing to do with a little dirt. I took what she was offering and pushed her away again.

The push and pull between us was a constant thing. I knew I was hurting her but thought it was what I needed to do. I'm not a cruel person. I was only doing what I thought was best, what was necessary to put some distance between us. I fooled myself by using the words noble and self-sacrificing. That was total bullshit. I was protecting myself, career and heart. But even Sara had her limits. And, apparently, my high-handedness and condescension reached a point where she couldn't overlook them.

I can't begin to explain what I felt when I found her request for a leave on my desk. I was pissed. I was scared. I was missing her already. So I did the one thing someone in my position should never do. I laughed at her, scoffed at her desire to work for the FBI. I chose to shirk any responsibility for her behavior. I behaved like an ass. I knew it as soon as it happened but I wasn't about to backtrack. That might have given her the advantage. But when she threatened to quit I wasn't fast enough with my poker face. I know that my terror was obvious. I wanted to tell her I needed her. I wanted to beg her to forgive me and ask her to stay. Instead, dogged in my determination to hold on to my pride, I told her that the lab needed her and hoped she could read between the lines.

Sometimes Catherine is a thorn in my side but sometimes she is a voice of reason. I didn't know what to do about Sara. I didn't know how to tell her I was wrong, how to call a truce. I would have let her walk away out of sheer ignorance and stubbornness. But not Catherine. She stepped in and told me to get my head out of my ass. She actually said microscope but I knew what she meant. Of course she also managed to disabuse me of any notion that I had been hiding my feelings for Sara.

I sent Sara a plant. Not roses, not even wildflowers. Nope. I sent her a fucking plant with a card that said 'From Grissom'. I still don't understand what made her stay. Although I did think it was fitting since our argument started over her being a vegetarian. The next morning there was a breakfast and a brief, yet frank, discussion regarding the error of my ways. I apologized. She accepted. Life kept moving. A few weeks later, I told her she was beautiful. I didn't mean to. I couldn't meet her eyes because she would have seen the whole truth in mine. But it was out there and I couldn't take it back. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I did neither.

Things settled down between us. We seemed to have reached a place where we could work together. Some of the old magic came back. The synchronicity. The 'geek mind meld'. I loved working with Sara. There was something undeniable between us. No need for words. No need for the things we weren't good at. Only the evidence, the detritus of a crime, was between us and we understood that.

There was another thing that kept me from Sara. It was during this time that I began to lose my hearing. I have never been more terrified in my life. Here I was, a forty-three year old man, hopelessly in love with a twenty-eight year old woman and I was going deaf. Twenty-eight year old women wanted to have children. They wanted to get married and buy houses. They wanted to laugh and talk and plan and love. They didn't want to learn sign language. They didn't want to worry that their children would be deaf.

I still dreamed of her. My heart still ached. My body still yearned for hers. Just standing close to her was enough to make me weak with longing. She felt it too. I know she did. There were times when I would stand too close, my body pressing against her back and my cheek nestled next to hers. There were just as many times she would crowd me, her body brushing mine, letting me feel her heat. It was as if she couldn't get close enough, couldn't handle even a millimeter of space between us. And she might have thought she was hiding her arousal from me but I could smell her and it drove me crazy. I fought hard to retain control, continually amazed at how she moved me. I captured those moments in my memory, taking them out when I was alone and using them to fuel my fantasies.

Again, unrequited love sucks. And I loved Sara Sidle.


	7. Chapter 7

Defining Moments

Chapter 4 – Sara's Story

Disclaimer: I don't own them - wish I did though.

A/N: Thanks so much to Jill and Doris for the beta. All mistakes are mine.

People lie. It's a fact of life, a lesson I have learned over and over. People have told me lies, in one form or another, my whole life. My parents, Grissom, my friends, complete strangers; they all lied. But worse than that, I've lied to myself. Somehow, despite the pain of having the truth revealed, I couldn't let go of my innate trust in my fellow man. Maybe that made me a sap. More likely it made me a target.

There were very few people I admired but Melissa Winters was one of those. She was tough, tenacious. She rose above her physical handicap to become one of the best prosecutors in Clarke County. I had worked with her a few times but this time I was primary on a case that had been assigned to her. We had spent months going over evidence and testimony. Day after day talking, strategizing and getting to know each other. You can't spend that kind of time with someone without learning a little about what they believe. The ideals she espoused were so much like my own that I felt close to her. But Melissa wasn't what she appeared to be.

Melissa was the ADA in the wheelchair who preached about justice, fairness, right and wrong. She could woo a jury with her honest eyes and earnest words.

Melissa was the ADA in the wheelchair who shot her abusive husband while he slept and lied about it. Blamed it on some nameless, faceless man – some man who didn't even exist.

Melissa was the first woman in Las Vegas that I considered to be my friend. But that wasn't really true. You can't be friends with someone that you don't know. Instead of being the person I thought she was, she turned out to be no better than the criminals she prosecuted, no better than my mother.

She set me up. She wanted the truth to come out and she knew I'd do the job. She knew I would look for justice, knew I couldn't bear to let her attacker get away with what had been done to her. But just like Grissom had promised, the evidence didn't lie. It led me right to her bedside. Confronting her was hard. My heart ached with her betrayal. I couldn't understand why she did what she did. I couldn't understand how she could have crossed that line when she worked so hard to advocate for victims.

The one bright spot during this time was Hank. Hank, with his cute smile and sense of fun, made me feel sexy. He gave me attention when I really needed it. I cared about him. I did. Granted, I didn't love him. My heart was Grissom's and there wasn't room for anybody else. Despite that, I tried with Hank. I needed what he had to give. I needed to belong. It felt so good to be a part of something, to be part of a couple.

There was just one problem; Hank lied to me. I don't know why people think that omitting the truth is any different from actually telling a lie. And he omitted one huge fact. He had a girlfriend. Elaine. He went on vacations with her. He spent time with her. He planned a future with her. Oh, he was attracted to me. At least he fucked me like he was. He didn't love me anymore than I loved him and I would have been okay with that. But I wasn't okay with being the other woman. Hank lied to me and reinforced my belief that all men were pigs.

Grissom did nothing to offset that belief. His lies just kept compounding. From his intimations of togetherness to his stupid plant he continued to pile one lie on top of another. He told me to get a life, find a diversion. That was a lie too. He never meant any of that. What he actually meant was find something to do that will allow you sit around, alone, waiting for me to call. Maybe he thought I'd take up knitting. Instead I took up with another man. And Grissom was not happy. He made that abundantly clear both during and after the Tom Haviland trial.

That entire case, from beginning to end, was a total disaster. First there was Phillip Gerard and his accusations that I fixed evidence because of my relationship with Hank. I was pissed. If I had nothing else I had my integrity and the implication alone was enough to make me see red. The fact that Grissom was there to hear it was almost more than I could stand. Up until that point I had managed to keep any knowledge of Hank from Grissom, sadly holding out hope that Grissom would see the error of his ways making Hank yesterday's news. When Gerard let the cat out of the bag I know I saw a flash of pain in Grissom's eyes and then that morphed into something I never expected. He was disappointed in me and that hurt. The fact that I had nothing to be ashamed of didn't factor into it.

The day that I had to testify was just one continuous nightmare. Grissom tossed me a compliment, his offhand comment making my heart swell. Before I could get too excited he told me it was okay for me to have a boyfriend. Why he thought I needed his permission I'm not sure. And even though he didn't mean it when he told me I deserved to have a life it stung. I still wanted to hear him say he wanted me, loved me. Instead I got a 'you look nice' and 'not your fault' before I headed off to face the firing squad.

If I thought Phillip Gerard was bad it was only because I hadn't met Marjorie Westcott. I was prepared for the bra thing. I expected that. I never saw the rest of it coming. When she asked me about touching Grissom I wanted to sink through the floor. She made it sound like something dirty and devious. The simple act of offering comfort to another human being was brought under scrutiny. For just a second I understood what I thought Grissom was afraid of. When I looked out and saw Nick and Warrick looking back at me with undisguised pity I wanted to run from the building and just keep going.

The one thing I got out of that whole debacle was the realization that Grissom was lying to me about something else. He was lying about his hearing. I sat there and watched him struggle to understand the question he was being asked. I watched his eyes. I watched him watch Marjorie Westcott's mouth. He couldn't hear her so he was reading her lips. I don't know how I really felt about that. Not his hearing problem but his unwillingness to tell me about it. I thought we were friends if nothing else. I guess I was wrong about that too. I never told him that I knew. I figured he'd tell me if he wanted me to know. If I thought I was going to wait him out I really was lying to myself.

Grissom didn't waste any time making his displeasure at my relationship with Hank known. We had gone to a vineyard. I was doing what I'd been told. I was having a life. Unfortunately, I wasn't available when Grissom paged me. It didn't matter that it was my day off. It didn't matter that I made Hank mad by insisting I had to go in to work. Nothing mattered except Grissom's needs. Regardless of the fact that I cut my day short and rushed back as soon as possible Grissom was really pissed off.

When I did get to the scene he assigns me to a murder – solo. Don't get me wrong. Normally I would be excited about working solo and everything that implies. But it was the look in his eye and the anger in his voice that told me this wasn't because he trusted me. He gave me the case as punishment. He could have sent someone to cover the cheerleader's murder and used me to do scut work on either case when I got there. Instead he sent me into exile so that he didn't have to face the question of where I'd been or who I'd been with. But unlike a child who has been unjustly punished, I suffered in silence. I worked the evidence and I solved the case. I never complained. When it was over I let him know he couldn't have it both ways.

Amazingly enough it was like nothing had ever happened. Grissom flipped that invisible switch and I was his best girl again. Flirting, joking, caring, he did it all. Maybe he pretended that Hank didn't exist. Maybe he just buried it wherever he put his ability to be human. I didn't know and I didn't really care. I was back in his good graces and life was fine. Just when I thought everything was evening out the rumor mill started churning again.

Everybody was whispering about Grissom and a dominatrix. I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. Better yet, I couldn't understand it. What did she have that I didn't besides a corset and a whip? We both, in our own way, dealt in pain. Hers was just of the more overt variety. It really didn't matter if the rumors were true or not. It was another blow to my sense of self-worth. I was so tied up in what Grissom thought of me, how he felt about me that any slight, real or imagined, was like a slap in the face. And to think that he could risk things for her that he wouldn't risk for me was devastating.

It was around this time that I found out about Hank and Elaine. There was no big scene. It didn't matter that much to me. We were done and I was still hopelessly in love with Grissom. I had made up my mind to ask him out but then the lab exploded. I will never forget the horror I felt at that bright flash of light. I don't know what hit me next the flying glass or the sound. I don't remember a lot about that day. People running and screaming. The fire department. Greg on a stretcher. Even now it is disjointed. I'm not sure how I got out of the building. All I do know is that Grissom called me honey. It was the first term of endearment I had ever heard come from him and it penetrated my frazzled mind and warmed my heart.

We all cheated death that day. Each and everyone inside that building was a walking miracle. But instead of being grateful I became self-destructive. I was fearless, confronting suspects without thought to my safety. Maybe I thought that nothing could hurt me. I don't know what I was thinking. I was so screwed up by this point that I wasn't really thinking at all. I was waiting for somebody to see me. Waiting and hoping that someone would reel me in. And to his credit, Grissom tried. He just didn't try hard enough.

I did finally get around to asking Grissom out. That was a really bad move. He never even thought about it. He turned me down so fast I think I saw stars. My head hadn't even stopped spinning when he gave me some crazy shit about not knowing what to do. How could he not know what to do? He was a man. I was pretty sure of that. I was a woman. I knew that he was attracted to me. It wasn't that damned hard to figure out. So I threatened him a little, told him that he could be too late. Of course I didn't stick around to get a response. That seemed to be a talent of mine, dropping those bombshells and running for cover. Maybe we weren't as different as I like to think.

Sometimes you get lucky. You may not even realize that it was luck until something bad happens to someone else. The death of Detective Lockwood brought home to me just how lucky I was. He had been a constant in all our lives. Cool and calm under the worst of circumstances. He was the kind of person, the kind of cop, you wanted to be. He wasn't as lucky as the rest of us were that year. He died a hero – but a dead hero is still dead, he just gets a medal for it. I wondered if he knew that it was his day to die. Somehow I doubt it. I can't imagine there being some voice that says 'this is it'. And if there were why would people ignore it?

It's hard to lose friends. It doesn't really matter how you lose them. And mine were dropping like flies. It was one blow after another. But I told myself I didn't need them. I told myself I was okay. I lied to myself and to the people around me. Falling apart in private and maintaining a happy face in public; too proud to reach out for help and too much in denial to realize I needed it.


	8. Chapter 8

Defining Moments

Chapter 4 – Grissom's Story

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Wish I did though.

A/N: Thanks to Jill and Doris for the beta work. All mistakes are mine.

People lie. It's a fact of life, a lesson I have learned over and over. People have told me lies, in one form or another, my whole life. Worse than that, I've lied to myself. Maybe I shut myself off from those around me because I couldn't take the pain when the truth was revealed. In any case, I set up a wall around myself. I trusted no one. My entire life was about protecting me, taking care of me. I was safe inside my fortress or so I thought.

There were very few people I admired but Phillip Gerard was one of those. He was brilliant. He taught me so much. He taught me to follow the evidence, to ignore the human element and listen to the science. He had integrity and I had modeled my career after his. He was my mentor. You can't say that about someone that you don't know. I thought I knew him. But I was wrong. Phillip Gerard wasn't what he appeared to be. Maybe I was just a bad judge of character.

Phillip came to Vegas to work on Tom Haviland's defense. He was one of the best criminalists in the country before he decided to go to work for the other side. He sold out. Like a whore he put out for the highest bidder. I couldn't believe that he was the same man I had known. I thought he was my friend. I even let him meet my mother. Considering that no one in Vegas had ever so much as talked to her that signified a lot. He knew about her history, knew that the hearing loss was hereditary and he used that knowledge against me. I told myself it wasn't personal. I told myself he was only doing his job. But it hurt. There were few people I ever allowed to get that close to me and his behavior reinforced the distance I normally kept between me and the world.

I found out something else during that time that I wasn't happy about. I found out about Hank Peddigrew. I don't know why people think that omitting the truth is any different from actually telling a lie. And Sara had omitted one huge fact. She had a boyfriend. I was blindsided. How could I work with Sara day after day and not know that she was involved with someone? I never saw it coming. When Phillip asked about her relationship with she just stood there with this guilty look on her face. My mind was reeling. That little revelation knocked the wind right out of me. I think that I managed to hide my hurt before she saw it. But I know she could see the disappointment in my eyes because I could see the answering hurt in hers.

I didn't mean to let her hurt me. I had done my best to avoid it. I thought that I had prepared myself for this day; the day that Sara found someone younger, more outgoing, someone more like her. All the preparation in the world didn't stop the sharp stab of jealousy or the anger. She was slipping away. I was losing her. I refused to think I was driving her away. I still saw everything I wanted when I looked at her. I still saw her youth and vitality, her warmth. I wanted to capture that and bottle it. But I was afraid of her. I was terrified of what would happen if I allowed myself to love her. I was still so torn. She was so angry, so damaged – we both were. Together we were a powder keg of raw emotion and I was scared of that. So I pushed her away and straight into some other man's arms.

I know that Sara took some very hard blows that year. There was Melissa Winters and Hank. Their betrayals left her even more emotionally raw. I saw it. But I didn't know what to do about it. That is probably the biggest lie I ever told. I kept saying it – over and over. I did know what to do. I always knew what to do where Sara was concerned. That's not true. I knew what I wanted to do. But I refused to make myself that vulnerable. It came down to making a choice between me and her and I won. Or did I?

When the Haviland trial started what had been a series of bad dreams turned into one continuous nightmare. My whole team was falling apart. Nick and Warrick, Sara and Catherine, everybody was collapsing under the scrutiny of Phillip Gerard and Marjorie Westcott. I heard about what was going on in that courtroom. I knew about Nick forgetting the date/time stamps. I knew they raked Warrick over the coals about his gambling. I even knew that they tried to trip up Cath about her previous career. None of that bothered me. They were all very capable of handling a tough prosecutor. It was the questions that Marjorie asked Sara that had me worried. It was just one more reason why a relationship between us would never work.

I got on the stand and more of my fears became reality. I was lying – to myself, to my team. I was losing my hearing and Phillip and Marjorie played off that. I felt like an idiot sitting there, unable to answer a question because I couldn't hear it. I had to read her lips – thin and drawn though they were. I managed to make it through. But when I looked up I could see that Sara had figured out my secret. I waited on her to say something, anything, but she never did. I thought that if she wanted to know, if she cared, she would ask. It never occurred to me that she was thinking the same thing.

I vaguely remember telling Sara that she needed to find a diversion. I had my roller coasters and racing roaches. She had nothing. I don't know what I expected her to do but it wasn't finding a man. Maybe I thought she would take up knitting or painting or gardening, anything besides dating. It didn't matter that I was going out. My dates didn't mean anything. I never went out with the same woman more than a couple of times. I didn't go out and find a girlfriend to share my lonely nights with. I didn't waste any time making my displeasure known. I punished her, treated her like she was a child who had misbehaved in some way. I was wrong but I didn't see it then and wouldn't see it for years.

I couldn't stand the thought of being around her when she had some other man's scent, some other man's touch on her. I refused. I could have sent Nick or Warrick to the second scene that day. Some of the stuff on the double murder could have waited until she got there. But I wanted her as far away from me as possible. Instead of making the smart decision I made the emotional one. I gave her a murder to work solo. I never asked anyone to work a murder solo. I couldn't even be professional enough to ask if she needed help. I was waiting for her to come to me. I was waiting for her to ask for help. But she didn't. She never complained. She worked the evidence and closed the case. The only thing I offered her was a 'good job'. I didn't even have the decency to apologize for my behavior. Even then she politely told me I couldn't have it both ways. No anger, no resentment. It's hard for me to admit that sometimes she was more professional, even for all her emotional attachments, than I ever could be.

Once again Sara forgave my stupidity. Amazingly enough it was like nothing had ever happened. She laughed and flirted and joked just like nothing had ever happened. I made up my mind that even if I couldn't have her in my life outside of work I would make the best of what I could have. She was Sara and I was Grissom and we were engaged in an age old dance. There was no room for Hank or anyone else in our world. Well at least not until Lady Heather came along again.

She was something I had never experienced. She was beautiful, cool, detached; a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. I was drawn to her both physically and emotionally. We were two of a kind. We both, in our own way, dealt in pain. Hers was just of the more overt variety. Heather held herself apart from the world. She studied people like I studied evidence. She offered me something that no one ever had. She offered me a chance to be with someone who took me at face value and would demand nothing else. She was the antithesis of Sara. And I almost gave in. I might have if she hadn't become a suspect.

It was right after this that the lab exploded. I will never forget the horror I felt. The smoke. The fire. Greg on a stretcher. People running and screaming. The fire department. Everything seemed to play in slow motion. I was looking around, amazed at the destruction, when I caught sight of Sara sitting on the curb. Her face was scratched and her hair was sticking out in every direction. She had never looked better to me. When I saw the cut on her hand I didn't stop the **(to)** filter what I said. I called her honey. It was the first term of endearment I had ever used with her. But I was so grateful that she wasn't hurt, so grateful that she was sitting there in the sun that I couldn't stop the words. And at that moment I meant it with all my heart.

We all cheated death that day. Each and everyone inside that building was a walking miracle. But instead of being grateful Sara became self-destructive. She was fearless, confronting suspects without any thought of her safety. I don't know what she was thinking or if she was really thinking at all. I tried to reel her in. Maybe I didn't try hard enough.

As if I didn't have enough on my mind Sara picked that point in time to ask me out. I didn't even consider it. I just said no. I was getting ready to have surgery. I was under tremendous pressure about the lab explosion. It was all around a bad time. I probably should have handled it better but no one has ever complimented my people skills. I tried to explain that I didn't know what to do about us. If it had been nothing more than a physical attraction we could have taken care of that. I was a man. She was a woman. Sex with her would have been a simple solution. But it wasn't purely physical. It was more for both of us and neither of us was ready for that.

Sometimes you get lucky. You may not even realize that it was luck until something bad happens to someone else. The death of Detective Lockwood brought that home to me. He had been a constant in all our lives. He died a hero – but a dead hero is still dead, he just gets a medal for it. I wondered if he knew that it was his day to die. Somehow I doubt it. I believe that God has a plan for our lives. I just can't imagine there being a voice that says 'this is it'. Maybe it was just because it had never been my day.

It's hard to hold yourself apart from everyone. I made the appointment to have the surgery on my ears. I didn't talk about it. I didn't want any pity. I had to tell Catherine since I wouldn't be at work but that was it. I told myself I didn't want anyone there with me. I told myself I was okay alone. I didn't know I was lying to myself until Catherine showed up. Sometimes having a friend is the best thing in the world. Sometimes being one is the hardest.


	9. Chapter 9

Defining Moments

Chapter 5 – Sara's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to dreamsofhim for the beta. She rocks!

_Jealousy is simply and clearly the fear that you do not have value. __Jealousy scans for evidence to prove the point - that others will be preferred and rewarded more than you. There is only one alternative - self-value. _

_Dr. Jennifer James/Urban Cultural Anthropologist_

I had been in Vegas for three years. Time was flying by and my life was at a stand still. Nothing that I had hoped for had come to pass. None of my goals, personal or professional, were even within reach. I kept thinking I was going to move past it all. Unfortunately, life has a way of putting a girl in her place. I was emotionally unstable and looking for something to hold on to. I found it. Alcohol. A beer after work to help me relax turned into two and two turned into three. Next thing I knew I was trying to hide the smell with cough drops. Brass saw it for what it was. He tried to talk to me but I wasn't ready to listen much less admit there was a problem.

I'm not really sure when the drinking started but the first time I drank to forget was the night Suzanna Kirkwood died. What happened to her and her family was horrific and it dredged up memories I had hoped would never see the light of day. I had walked in her shoes. I had been there – trapped under the weight of some animal with rancid breath and sweaty hands. I had been there – screaming, crying, begging and fighting. I had been there – my soul tearing in two as the last vestige of my innocence was ripped away. That I knew my attacker made no difference. The terror inside your house can be just as bad as the terror outside.

When I saw Suzanna lying in a pool of blood I knew that the system had failed her. I had wanted her to fight for both of us so I pushed her to do what I thought was right but I couldn't hold up my end of the bargain. Maybe I pushed her too hard, maybe not hard enough. There were so many what ifs. If I had just let it go, if she hadn't been too scared to write that number down, if all the planets had lined up and the god that people talked about had smiled on us things would have been different and she wouldn't be dead. I remember standing just inside the yellow tape looking at her through the mist that was falling and thinking how appropriate that the sky was weeping. I remember sitting in the truck, tears rolling down my cheeks, watching Grissom tuck every emotion away behind his tight jaw and wounded eyes and wishing I could feel nothing. I managed that a little later with most of a twelve pack of beer, trying to drown my demons before they could devour me.

At times I questioned my own sanity. I'd stayed in Las Vegas for three years constantly hoping things would get better while they only got worse. I wanted to be friends with the people I worked with and couldn't understand why that never quite worked out. It was only later that I realized I didn't know how to be a friend. Catherine seemed to have made her decision about me. For a while she had been on the fence, flipping back and forth between cautious respect and outright distaste. Eddie's death put her firmly on the distaste side. She took great delight in taking a dig at me every chance she got. Any conflict between Grissom and me gave her some perverse thrill.

I'll admit it. I was jealous of Catherine. Not because of Grissom. If he had wanted her he could have had her years before. She would have leapt at an opportunity to find a man that stable to take care of her. Nope. I was jealous of her position on the team. She wasn't smarter, or more dedicated. She wasn't any more capable. But she was prettier, sexier and she used her femininity like a weapon. So when Grissom took a case away from me and handed it to Catherine because the suspect liked her I was pissed and hurt. Since when did he subscribe to the school of 'whatever it takes'? Since when did he care what the bad guys wanted?

If I wanted to tell the truth I would say I was jealous of everyone. Warrick because he was Grissom's favorite. No matter what he did Grissom stood up for him. He was allowed to throw temper tantrums and become too involved without repercussions. I was never afforded that freedom. Catherine because she had something I didn't. She had the ear of the man I wanted. I didn't know how close to the edge she walked. I thought that Grissom did whatever she asked. Nick because he was Nick and because he wanted my promotion. Some days I just couldn't stomach his Boy Scout mentality. There were times I wanted to shake him until he admitted that he was pissed off about something.

I was still desperate for Grissom's approval. In my mind approval and love were synonymous. If he thought I was good enough, smart enough or driven enough he would love me. I was so hungry for someone to love me. I wanted so badly to feel wanted and needed. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that the one person I needed love from was me and I couldn't love myself because I felt dirty and ashamed. So many secrets I was keeping from people. So many I was keeping from me.

Things weren't all bad. There were times I knew that Grissom was still interested. I could see it in his eyes, read it in the way he carried himself around me. The day we were working through a theory on the Rachel Lyford case he was holding on to his self-control by a thread. His big body was so close that I could feel the heat of him. His hands were pinning my wrists to the sheet and his eyes were dark with want. His fingertips trailing over my arms, his body shifting closer, as he slowly placed his hands on either side of my hips. I should have kissed him. I should have pressed my body right up against his, checked to see if that was a banana in his pocket, and kissed him until neither of us could think. What did I do instead? I opened my big mouth. I made some really stupid comment about the promotion and, just like always, the moment was gone.

There was always some random comment, some odd moment that reeled me back in. He would push and push and I would make up my mind that I was done. And then I would find out I was the only person he bought a Christmas gift for or he would let me know he was concerned when he saw me struggling or I would see the heat in his gaze when he thought I wasn't looking and I was right back under that spell. No matter how many times I had my feelings thrown back in my face I was standing there waiting for more. I didn't see it then but I was my mother. My bruises were just invisible.

It wasn't until Debbie Marlin that I realized how fucked up Grissom truly was. I should have known there was something special about her from the way he reacted. He made stupid excuses to keep me out of the house. He wouldn't talk to me. I heard that he hadn't slept in days but I didn't believe it. Grissom was logical and he never pushed himself like that. Nobody would tell me why he was so consumed by the case. It wasn't until I saw Debbie that I understood. She could have been me.

It's an odd thing to see yourself dead. That's exactly what happened to me though. I walked in and saw my body, my face, my hair, me. And I was dead. Suddenly, I understood. Grissom was projecting. He saw the resemblance and he was working hard to find justice for the girl who could have been me. I wanted to go to him, to tell him that I wasn't that girl. I wanted to touch him, prove that I was still alive. I don't know what I thought. Maybe I imagined he was regretting all the time he had wasted. Maybe I imagined he was going to come to me when this was over and tell me the truth, declare his undying love. It made me sad to think of him suffering. It made me sad to think that it took something so tragic to bring us together.

I went to the station that day prepared to watch Grissom and Brass wring a confession out of Dr. Lurie. I laid eyes on Grissom for the first time in days from the other side of that mirror. He looked horrible. His face was haggard and drawn. His eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. He was pale and almost lifeless. My heart hurt for him. I had never seen him like that. I had no idea that things were about to get much worse.

When Grissom began to talk my heart stopped hurting. It is impossible for something to be completely destroyed and still feel pain. He sat in that room and said everything I had known he felt. He admitted to a killer that I was someone he cared about. And then he told him that I wasn't enough. That I couldn't match up to his precious career. Talk about being a fool for love. That's what I was, a fool who was wearing my heart on my sleeve for a man who was too afraid of failure to even begin to live. In that instant I became nothing. Everything that I had used to define who I was fell away and I became nothing.

Every day became a battle. I struggled to maintain at work. I was professional to a fault. If nothing else I learned to shove my feelings to the side and do the job. At home I fell apart. I would sit for hours staring at the television, downing beers and wishing that my life were different. I blamed my parents. I blamed Grissom. I blamed everyone but the right one. After all, no one would choose to go through what I had. It couldn't possibly be my fault.

It was a testament to my strength of will that I managed to process Mindy Dupont without a total melt down. She was an addict, a lost soul. Every bone in her body seemed ready to poke through her skin. She stood docilely while I scraped and combed and photographed. It wasn't anything she said or did that upset me. It was her eyes. They were dead. The last time I had seen eyes like that was the night they took my mother to jail. But instead of crying or ranting, I tucked it away in some dark little place and pasted on my CSI persona. I must have done something right because Grissom looked at me like he didn't even know who I was. He even asked if he had seen me lately. I wanted to laugh. I was there more than he was. How could he not have seen me?

I found out that Grissom recommended Nick for the promotion. I didn't care that the position was cut. It was the idea that he thought Nick was more qualified than I was. I was convinced he didn't base his decision on merit. I knew, deep down, that I was passed over because of something much more personal. I had heard the rumors. I knew people thought we were having some secret affair. As if anyone who was getting laid could be as pissed off as the two of us. When I confronted Grissom I got another helping of bullshit. Why would you give someone a job if they didn't really want it?

If the year started out with a whimper, it went out with a bang. Going out after shift with Nick and Warrick had become something of a ritual. Once a week we would cruise down to Freemont Street, drink a couple of beers and eat at one of the restaurants there. I'm not really sure what happened that night that was any different from the past few weeks. The three of us drank beer and talked, unwinding from Linley Parker's case. We didn't eat anything but I wasn't really hungry. Maybe I didn't realize how tired I was or how long it had been since I had eaten. I'm not making excuses because there are none that will cover my stupidity. I got in my car and headed for home and the next thing I knew there were blue lights behind me. I was humiliated and scared to find myself blowing into the Breathalyzer. I knew that I could lose my job. When I realized that the cop was going to call Grissom I wasn't sure that losing my job would be so bad.

Just when I was convinced that Grissom was going to tear into me he was sweet. Every time I thought I had him figured out he proved me wrong. Maybe that's what kept me coming back. I don't really know. But he came in and held my hand and drove me home. No questions. No recriminations. Just a comforting presence when I needed it most. I was mortified and a little pissed off but, eventually, grateful. If not for that I might have continued down the road to alcoholism and self-destruction. I didn't get it together over night but I started working on it, working on me. And that has made all the difference.


	10. Chapter 10

Defining Moments

Chapter 5 – Grissom's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to dreamsofhim for the beta. She rocks!

_Jealousy is simply and clearly the fear that you do not have value. Jealousy scans for evidence to prove the point - that others will be preferred and rewarded more than you. There is only one alternative - self-value. _

_Dr. Jennifer James/Urban Cultural Anthropologist_

I had been night shift supervisor for three years. It was a job I never wanted and one I wasn't very good at. The smartest thing I had done was surround myself with good people. I had a team I trusted and we were damned good. My people had the highest solve rates in the lab both separately and as a team. We were making a difference and bringing criminals to justice. Funny that I actually believed the shit I was telling myself because I am not a man prone to flights of fancy. I should have known never to tempt fate.

I'm not really sure when I realized we were fighting a losing battle but I think it might have been the night Suzanna Kirkwood died. What happened to her and her family was horrific. I didn't understand until that moment how helpless her father must have felt listening to his daughter being brutalized. I had nightmares for months about her being trapped under the weight of some animal with rancid breath and sweaty hands. I could hear her screaming, crying, begging and fighting while I stood there unable to do anything to save her. I would wake up wrapped in sweat soaked sheets gasping for air while her cries echoed in my head. Nobody thought I felt things but they couldn't have been more wrong.

When I saw Suzanna lying in a pool of blood I knew that the system had failed us all. I had pushed her father to do what I thought was right but I couldn't hold up my end of the bargain. There were so many what ifs. If I had just let it go, if she hadn't been too scared to write that number down, if all the planets had lined up and God had smiled on us things would have been different and she wouldn't be dead. I remember crouching beside her body, looking at her through the mist that was falling and thinking how appropriate that the sky was weeping. I remember watching Sara cross under the tape while I tucked every emotion away and wished I could feel nothing. I knew she was crying. I knew she was in pain. But I was too overwhelmed to take her on. It was all I could do to help myself.

At times I questioned my own sanity. I'd never wanted to be in the position I was in. I had always thought of myself as a teacher. I loved field work and that is what I wanted to do more than anything. Yet I was stuck trying to figure out the dynamics of the relationships of the people who worked for me. I knew enough to know that I just didn't get people. All the different personalities were enough to drive a man to drink. Everybody wanted something from me and I was slowly figuring out what. Nick needed stroking. Warrick needed pushing. Sara needed so much I didn't know where to start. Just staying one step ahead of them kept me busy. Why did anybody think that I could supervise these particular people with all their foibles? Someone must have been having a good laugh at my expense.

If I didn't know better I would have thought that Catherine was trying to drive me crazy. I know it wasn't her fault that Sam Braun was her father. But she jeopardized the lab and her position in it when she used evidence to test for paternity. She should have been fired. We lost a major case because of her rash behavior. From some misguided sense of responsibility I covered for her. I even kept it out of her review so that she could get the increase she had earned. Then she tells me she took his money. Catherine and I had been friends for a long time but that surprised me. I suddenly realized I didn't know her at all.

Adding to my misery was the new position the department was thinking of creating. A Key CSI. What the hell does that mean? Anyway, I had two of my people apply and I was required to write a recommendation for the one I thought would be best for the job. That wouldn't have been such a problem if one of them hadn't been Sara. Was she the most qualified? Yes. Was she the right choice? No. And not for the reasons she thought. She wanted the job too much. She was already struggling. She was always there, always trying too hard; giving her more responsibility would only make that worse. I was afraid that if I gave her the recommendation she so desperately wanted that the job would overwhelm her. I didn't know how close she was already. If I had I might have done a few things differently.

To make things worse there were times I couldn't hide my attraction to her. The day we were working through a theory on the Rachel Lyford case I was inches away from losing control. "Pin me down," she tells me like it's an everyday occurrence that I get to live out something that has haunted my dreams for years. I was so close that I could feel the heat of her body. My hands were pinning her wrists to the sheet while her eyes widened in surprise. The soft skin of her arms under my fingertips was the sexiest thing I had ever felt. I was hard. I knew I should step back but I couldn't. Instead I slid my hands down to frame her hips and shifted a little closer. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her incoherent and writhing under me. It was Berkley all over again. Thankfully, Sara said something and I remembered where we were. She stopped me from kissing her, touching her, and I was both grateful and frustrated. Right or wrong, I still went home and jacked off while the memory played over and over in my head.

I had never considered myself a jealous person. I had always been of the mindset that people are going to do what they want to. When Sara came along that changed. I was jealous of everyone – Nick, Greg, Hank, Bobby – every male she ever came into contact with. I didn't call it jealousy mind you. I called it concern. I didn't want her to get hurt. I was just being protective. What a load of shit that was. I was so jealous that I couldn't see straight where she was concerned. If I had been thinking at all I would have known that Sara wasn't interested in those other people. But I was in denial about a lot of things at that point in my life.

It wasn't until Debbie Marlin that I realized how fucked up my situation truly was. I saw that girl in her black and white shower and the breath left my lungs. It was like a punch to the solar plexus. I wasn't sure I would ever be able to breathe again. When I opened the front door and Sara was there I wanted to weep. My only thought was to keep her as far away from that scene as possible because if I had to see the two of them together it would be too much. I didn't sleep for days, didn't leave Debbie's house for almost twenty-four hours. I was consumed by the case. I had to know what happened to her. When I found out I wished that I hadn't.

I understood. Might have been the first time I got inside a killer's head. It's scary to look into the eyes of someone you despise and see yourself. Every fear I had ever felt, every niggling little doubt I had was sitting across the table from me. I was so exhausted that my usual filters weren't in place. When I opened my mouth every thought, every emotion from the past few days came pouring out.

I told Dr. Lurie that I loved Sara. Not in so many words but the point was clear. I told him that he had more courage than I did. I told him so many things that were none of his business. I knew that he had killed Debbie because she broke his heart. And while I didn't think I would ever kill someone I knew that eventually Sara would break my heart. She would find someone younger, someone more loving, someone not afraid of his emotions and she would leave me for him. I couldn't take that risk. I couldn't expose myself to that kind of pain. I forgot about Brass and the attorney and everyone except myself. I was mourning the loss of something I had never had and patting myself on the back for being smart enough to not get hurt. In that instant I became nothing.

I had tried so hard to push her away. I could stop loving her if she would just leave me alone. If she didn't look at me with that heat in her eyes or flirt with me then I wouldn't need her. Somehow that never happened. I would push and push and she kept coming back. I told myself it didn't mean anything that she was the only person I bought a Christmas gift for. I told myself that I wasn't more in tune with her than anyone else. I buried my concern behind indifference but that didn't make it any less real. I knew that I was treating her badly. I knew that I was punishing her for my own inadequacies. But what I didn't know is that I was only giving her what she thought she deserved. I was her father. Only the abuse I handed out was emotional and her bruises were invisible.

Every day became a battle. I struggled to maintain at work. I was a pro at shoving my feelings to the side and just doing the job. At home I would sit for hours staring at the television. I saw Vincent Lurie standing in the interrogation room mocking me. I saw the pity in Brass' eyes when he looked at me afterward. I picked up the phone a thousand times and never once dialed. I didn't know what to say or do to make my pain go away. I blamed my mother. I blamed Sara. I blamed everyone but the right one. After all, nobody wanted to be emotionally defunct. It couldn't possibly be my fault.

Something happened to Sara around this time. I don't know what. It was as if she grew up a little over night. She was giving me a verbal report on what she found on Mindy Dupont and something just struck me as different. She was professional and unemotional. Nothing like the girl I knew. No teary eyes or quavering voice. She was very matter of fact. I was so taken aback that asked if I had seen her lately even though I saw her everyday.

Sara found out that I recommended Nick for the promotion. It didn't matter that the position was cut. She was pissed that I thought Nick was more qualified than she was. I know she thought it was personal. But it honestly wasn't. When she asked me I told her that I recommended Nick because he didn't care if he got the job or not. I hoped that one day she would understand that I was trying to do what was best for her. It seemed like I could do no right in her eyes by that point.

If the year started out with a whimper, it went out with a bang. I knew that once a week Nick, Sara and Warrick would cruise down to Freemont Street after work, drink a couple of beers and eat at one of the restaurants there. I was glad that the three of them seemed to be bonding despite their differences. I was glad that Sara was beginning to fit in. I'm not sure what happened that night. I may never know. But I remember how I felt when I got a call from PD. I was terrified that she was hurt. That was followed by relief and then anger. My emotions were all over the place on my short trip to pick her up.

Just when I was prepared to tear into her I couldn't. She looked so miserable, so defeated, that I couldn't add to it. Nothing I could have said or done would have been as bad as what she was doing to herself. So I went in and held her hand and drove her home. No questions. No recriminations. I was more than a little pissed off but, eventually, grateful. If not for that night she might have continued down the road to alcoholism and self-destruction and I wouldn't have seen it until it was too late to save her. She didn't get it together over night but she started working on it. And that has made all the difference.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were because I'd let them have a little fun.

A/N: Many thanks to Cropper and dreamsofhim for all their help. They are absolutely wonderful! This includes spoilers through Season 5.

Sara's Story

I spent the end of my fourth year in Vegas on vacation. Actually, I spent it laying by the pool, reading, attending PEAP counseling sessions and thinking about my life. Peer Employee Assistance, what a concept. I got to spend an hour a day, three days a week for a month talking to some stranger about what was wrong with me. I thought it would be hard and at first it was. But when there is someone who is interested in nothing but you and your problems you start to loosen up. I talked about work. I talked about my feelings for a man who couldn't love me enough to take a chance. I talked about my drinking. I talked and talked and talked. I even talked about my parents. I talked about things I had never given voice to before. I talked about how those things had shaped me, how they continued to cloud my judgment during certain cases.

Muriel, my counselor, was a no nonsense woman with a smoky voice and a French accent. She had some sixth sense that let her know when I was holding back and she used it like a scalpel – cutting away the bullshit to get to the truth. When I talked to her everything seemed so clear. She helped me realize that I was my own worst enemy. I was self-destructive. I had a problem with authority. I looked for validation in inappropriate places. I was attracted to emotionally unavailable men. I memorized all her catch phrases, ready to spit them out if anyone asked me. They ran over and over in my head like a broken record. I'm not saying I didn't learn anything because I did. I learned that before you can let go of your past you have to deal with it. I learned that I needed to forgive my parents and myself for the things that happened. I learned that you can't force someone to feel something that they don't. And I learned that I wasn't in love with Gil Grissom.

I know what you're thinking and trust me when I say it was hard for me to believe too. I had invested so much time and energy into my feelings for him and all it amounted to was a crush. I was physically attracted to him. That man had fueled more fantasies for me than any movie star ever would. But more than that, Grissom represented something I'd never had – stability. I wanted that so much I would have given anything for it. I almost did. But I came to realize that I needed his friendship and his respect much more than I needed to be whisked away on a white horse. If anyone was going to save me it would have to be me.

My first night back at work I was nervous. Who am I kidding? I was scared to death. I knew how fast gossip could spread and I was just waiting on someone to ask me about what happened. I knew Grissom wouldn't tell anyone but I wasn't sure about the uniform that had picked me up or the ones who had seen me sitting in that waiting room. I shouldn't have worried. I don't know what kind of threats Grissom threw out to keep it quiet but they obviously worked. No one gave any indication that they knew where I had been or why.

Gossip wasn't the only thing worrying me that night. As part of our post-PEAP follow up, I planned to tell Grissom about my family. My counselor had stressed that I needed a support system for the really tough cases but that I would have to let people know what I needed. I had to ask for help because my friends were, after all, just human and not able to read my mind. I did go to his office and try to talk to him. But it was a really busy night and Grissom was distracted. I told myself that I could do it tomorrow; unfortunately, as is often the case, tomorrow never rolled around. I don't know if there were other opportunities but I don't seem to recall any. Eventually, it just didn't seem important. I was doing okay. At least I had myself convinced that I was. I did my job. I stayed out of trouble. Everything else would work itself out. I was feeling better than I had in a very long time. Just when I started to think the worst was behind me the bottom fell out.

Ecklie had just split up the team. I was still reeling from the loss of the guys and kicking myself for any part I played in it. Amazing that you don't know how much people mean to you until they are gone. I still saw them but it was different and I didn't need different at that point in my life. Then there was Sofia Curtis. She was Ecklie's minion until she failed to see things his way. Then he sent her into exile. It was more than obvious she had it bad for Grissom. Strangely enough that didn't make me jealous, only sad. It had been a while since I had been able to make Grissom laugh. He hadn't been comfortable working with me or sharing ideas with me for longer than that and I missed him. I really just wanted him to be happy and if she made him happy then I would live with it.

Thoughts of my mother and father had been plaguing me for a very long time. I had begun to work through it with Muriel. But as soon as I completed my mandatory number of visits I stopped going.  
She urged me to continue but I figured I could work through it on my own. That's how I had always done things. You didn't spend time in foster care without learning to take care of yourself. Then along comes Devon Malton; five years old, starved to death and thrown out like yesterday's garbage.

Finding justice for Devon took me places I didn't want to go, places I didn't need to go alone. The foster home, the kids whose eyes spoke of pain that no child should ever be forced to face, the people who treated them as nothing more than a little extra money on a monthly check; they all reminded me of a time I had tried so hard to forget. I don't know why I couldn't be proud of the fact that I had endured so much and still managed to make something of myself. But the truth is I couldn't. I was angry. I was mad as hell. Seeing that little boy and his brothers, hearing about what had happened to them and why, only fed my anger.

I knew the case was getting to me. I should have used my head and found somebody to talk to. I could have gone back to Muriel. She had promised that her door would always be open. But I was firmly back in the state of denial. I tucked it all away in that little place where I stored all the bad stuff. I couldn't stop comparing my life to the lives of those three little boys: abusive man, woman at the end of her rope, kids left with no one when she strikes back. Thankfully, Candice Malton only assaulted her boyfriend. She was out of jail in about six weeks. But circumstances and a bad decision ended with one of the boys dead and the others closer to it than I wanted to think about. Sometimes, trying to protect your children can backfire.

It had been almost six weeks since Ecklie had split up the team and I hadn't found a moment to talk to Grissom. He was more withdrawn than usual which was a sure sign that he wasn't handling the situation well. I really needed to clear my conscience over what I had said to Ecklie. No matter what had transpired between Grissom and myself I never meant to hurt him – personally or professionally. I was a little nervous and that means that I over talked. He referred to himself as my boss and I started babbling. "You've always been more than a boss to me." "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?" "…Complicated relationship…my fault…" "Look for validation in inappropriate places." I don't know which of us was more embarrassed. And then he did it again. He looked at me with that sweet sadness in his eyes and he stumbled over his words. I could see that he was conflicted. I think he was going to ask me out and I had learned enough to know that I could be sucked back in if I allowed it. So I cut him off and ran.

I had spent some time after Devon Malton looking up my mother's case. It is amazing what you can find when you have the correct resources and are motivated. And I was nothing if not motivated. I spent hours reading through trial transcripts. I scoured her testimony looking, in vain, for something that wasn't there, something that only three people knew about. I'll admit now that I was stupid. I had no business doing that on my own either. But I thought I needed to know and I didn't trust anyone else enough to share it with them.

Even thought the next few weeks were calm, I continued to dodge Grissom whenever possible. I had been doing that constantly since my vacation. I'm not so sure he even realized I was avoiding him and that was probably a good thing. If he had been paying attention he might have said something or done something to convince me that I was just as wrong about not loving him as I had been about having loved him. If he had been paying attention he might have seen a warning sign and then things wouldn't have unfolded the way that they did.

I had just finished up a case and Catherine was hurting for man power on swing so Grissom loaned me out. Everything was going fine. I was supposed to identify one of the dead women. That's all I had to do. Sounds so simple. But nothing is ever quite what it seems. I gave her a face with a little plaster and a little paint. Then I took it to every hospital in Clark County. I spent hours and hours going through photos of battered women looking for a match. Sometime around hour number nine or ten I was on overload. I kept seeing my mother's face, swollen and bruised from another beating. I kept hearing the sound of her screams as they warred with the sound of his fists against her flesh. By the time I found a match I was seething.

I am not known for keeping a cool head. Let's face it, I'm mouthy and have a hard time controlling my temper. But this time even I knew I had gone too far. I harassed the primary suspect in the case. I think I really wanted him to attack me so that I could fight back. I wanted to hit him, to give him back a little of what he had been handing out. As if that weren't enough, I let Catherine get to me.

We haven't always had the best relationship. She resented my presence from the very beginning. She was by turns jealous or friendly or angry. I never knew where I stood with her but I knew that this time I had gone beyond anything I could fix. She wanted to know why I always got so caught up in these kinds of cases. Instead of telling her the truth, which I considered to be none of her business, I told her she let her sexuality cloud her judgment about men. Now, I might have gotten away with that if we hadn't been standing in the middle of the hallway right outside Ecklie's office. But that's just where we were and he heard every word.

Next thing I know, I'm in his office and he's telling me I have to respect Catherine because of her position. Then he starts in about what a horrible CSI I am. Then as a final straw he tells me I'm not the kind of person he wants in his lab. I lost it. I compared him very unfavorably to Grissom. I called him a kiss ass. I told him he couldn't deal with field work. I accused him of looking for reasons to go after us. I did everything I could to provoke him but insult his mother. He suspended me, sent me home for a week. But I was full of anger and riding a wave righteous indignation. I wouldn't have backed down then if he had fired me.

By the time Grissom knocked on my door I had calmed down a little. Even when he said that Ecklie wanted him to fire me I didn't get mad. I knew I had screwed up and that I deserved whatever happened. I wasn't, however, ready for what Grissom wanted. He wanted the truth. He wanted to know why. The man who was only interested in hard evidence wanted to know why I was angry. I tried using Muriel's catch phrases to divert his attention. I told him I had a problem with authority. I told him I picked emotionally unavailable men. I told him I was self-destructive. He stood there and he listened. Then he asked me again. I tried again and he did the same thing. I think we could have gone on that way indefinitely. But I realized that the quickest way to get rid of the world's most stubborn man was to tell him the truth. If my rationalizations couldn't run him off surely the truth could.

I only intended to give him the facts; the short, sweet version of how my father ended up full of holes and my mother ended up in jail. I remember sitting in my living room with Grissom sitting across from me. I remember staring at a spot on the wall so that I didn't have to look in his eyes. I went for the shock value. Straight out, 'my mother killed my father'. Grissom didn't say a word. He just sat there and waited for me to elaborate. Suddenly, I found the whole story pouring out.

_My first memories of my family were not of violence. I remember my mother's cookies and her hugs. I remember my father's laughter and being carried on his shoulders at the local fair. I remember my brother and his friends playing in the backyard and then piling into the kitchen for something to drink. I don't know exactly when things started to change or what caused them to. It's like I woke up one day and realized that there were no cookies being baked and my brother was never at home. I realized there was no laughter in my house anymore. _

_I knew that both my parents drank. I guess they were alcoholics. But I didn't think that was a problem because I never knew life any other way. I was so young, so oblivious. I can't pinpoint when the violence started. I just remember that there were times I couldn't hug my mother because it hurt her. I do remember the first time he hit me. I remember what it felt like when the back of his hand slammed into my cheek. It felt like my face exploded. I couldn't even cry. I lay where I fell and stared up at him. He looked so tall and so scary. My whole life changed in that moment. I lost the first little bit of my innocence. I was five years old._

_Things only got worse. I didn't have any friends. I couldn't ever have anyone at my house and the other mothers got tired of me always being around. Of course, there were the rumors about my family. Even then, people didn't want to get involved. They didn't want their children exposed to my kind; as if I were responsible for what my parents did. It doesn't matter what the reasons were I still spent a lot of time alone. I liked to read and ride my bike. But, slowly, I began to assume the responsibilities that my mother couldn't handle. I cooked and cleaned. I did laundry. I tried my best to make sure that everything was just the way my father liked it so that he wouldn't get mad and nobody would get hurt. _

_I was an awkward child. I had big teeth and the gap between the two front ones. I had freckles and pale skin and spiky hair. I was short and pudgy. Then something happened. The summer before my thirteenth birthday I grew almost six inches. My baby fat melted away. I had breasts and legs and a waist. My goofy grin didn't look so goofy anymore. I was becoming a woman. I was very self-conscious. I wasn't so sure I wanted boobs and all the stuff that came with them. I saw how men and women treated each other and I definitely didn't want any of that._

_I had no idea about sex. By the time I was old enough to understand that kind of thing my mother was in no condition to have the talk. And since I didn't have any friends I had no one to talk to. So the night that my dad came into my room and woke me up I was honestly afraid he was going to kick my ass for something he thought I had done. I would have been so much better off if he had. _

_I could smell the liquor on his breath. Nothing new about that but I will never forget that smell for as long as I live. I could smell something else – this sweaty odor. I've smelled it since then and now I know I smelled fear. He seemed so calm. He came in and sat on the side of my bed. I woke up to him shaking me and whispering my name. I really don't remember much after that. It's all a blur. He pinned me down and started touching me. His hand was over my mouth. He kept talking to me. Telling me how I had asked for it, how I flaunted myself in front of him. He tore my clothes. And somehow he was inside me. I must have passed out. I don't know how long it went on or if he…if he came inside me. I don't remember anything past that first excruciating pain. When I woke up I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean up. I planned to go back to bed and never tell a soul. For better or worse my mother picked that moment to stumble in on me. _

_She was so composed. She helped me clean up and she changed my sheets. She hugged me and kissed away my tears. She sat with me until I could sleep. She promised to take me to the doctor the next day after school. I remember just listening to her voice and thinking that she was lying. How could she take me to the doctor and explain what had happened? They would want to put my father in jail and she would never let that happen. I remember being so mad at her because she had never had the guts to stand up to him. There were so many things I wanted to say and do and I just did nothing. I went to sleep. I got up the next morning and went to school. I rode the bus home. And when I walked in the house there was my mother sitting on the couch and covered in blood. I remember trying to talk to her and she just stared right through me. Finally, I went to find my father. I walked through their bedroom door and there he was. Amazingly enough I didn't panic. I was calm and focused, like I had been waiting on this day for a long time. I used the phone in the kitchen to call the police and then sat beside my mother on the couch and waited. I was holding her hand when they knocked on the door. The only thing she said to me during this whole time was 'don't tell them what he did to you'. And I just kept thinking that if I was still short and fat and ugly this never would have happened. It was my thirteenth birthday._

_I was just a child. I was supposed to have sleepovers and dates. I was supposed to get in trouble for spending too much time on the phone. Instead I was visiting my mother in a mental hospital and standing dry-eyed and guilty as my father was put in the ground. I was supposed to giggle and talk about boys and learn how to put on makeup. Instead I was moving between foster homes and listening to the people who should have been my friends talk about me. I did the only thing I knew to do. I kept it all inside. I pasted a smile on my face and never told anybody about what was really going on. Eventually, I convinced myself that none of it really mattered._

Through all of these revelations, Grissom sat quietly. He held my hand, he brought me water and tissues, and he listened. I could tell by the narrowing of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw that he was affected by my story. But he didn't ask questions. He just listened. He didn't look at me like I had done something wrong. When I stopped talking he did something that no one had ever done before. He stayed. He tugged me over to sit beside him and wrapped his arms around me. He held me and he let me cry and he whispered to me how sorry he was.

We sat there for hours. We talked about a lot of things; his childhood, our relationship, my need for more therapy. I finally found what I had been looking for from Grissom from the very beginning. I found honesty. When he had to leave for work he kissed my cheek, told me to make sure I locked up and said he'd be back. I wasn't sure I believed that. Let's face it neither of us wanted to be that involved with the other. I had told him that I wasn't looking for that from him anymore. So I just shrugged and smiled. Then I locked the door and stumbled to bed. And I slept.

Grissom did come back the next morning and the morning after that. As a matter of fact, he showed up every morning of my suspension with breakfast. I just assumed he was afraid I wouldn't eat if he didn't feed me. We talked about a lot of things during that week. There were a lot of apologies. There was a lot of forgiveness. There was a lot of healing. I made an appointment to see Muriel. I was finally figuring out that I couldn't take care of things alone. I needed other people. It was a scary to need. It was scary to rely on other people. But it was a fact of life, one I was going to have to deal with.

I went back to work with a new attitude about a lot of things. I knew that if I were in trouble I had someone I could go to. Grissom was turning out to be a very good friend. He was concerned and making an effort to let me know it. It seems funny now but sharing my story with Grissom was like a release. I was lighter, freer and more comfortable than I had been in years. It was nice not having to carry that burden alone anymore. It was nice having a friend that I could lean on if I needed to.

It was the day my suspension ended that Grissom took Sofia to dinner. I wasn't surprised. Let's be honest, he is a man and he deserved a little attention. I was jealous. Crush or true love, the pain of rejection is the same. And I thought of it as rejection. Imagine my surprise when he knocked on my door about an hour after shift ended. I couldn't think of a reason for him to be there. He should have been with Sofia. I told him as much. Then the oddest thing happened. Gil Grissom explained to me, Sara Sidle, why he had taken another woman to dinner. He told me that he wasn't interested in her. I was flabbergasted. I couldn't think of a thing to say so I offered to cook breakfast. We ate and he left and I lay awake for a long time pondering the strangeness that was Grissom.

It was the last week of April, and Grissom and I caught a case at Desert State Mental Hospital. I hated those kinds of places. I was a nervous wreck. This was one time I wanted something simple like a suicide. But it wasn't meant to be. We spent days going in and out of that place, collecting evidence, interviewing employees and patients. We had been told to always stay together and we followed those instructions time after time. Then Grissom left to find keys to locked filing cabinets and Adam Trent attacked me.

I have never been so scared. Not when my father was on a rampage. Not when he was raping me. Not when I got home to find him dead. Nothing had ever scared me the way Adam did. I can still smell him. I can still feel that shank against my throat. I can still feel his arm wrapped around me and his erection against my ass. I know that some killers find sexual release when they take a person's life. But I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the fact that he was going to kill me and he was aroused by that thought.

I was struggling, trying to get away and random thoughts were running through my head. Things seemed to be happening so fast. Suddenly, Grissom's face appeared in the window. His eyes were panicked but, for some reason, seeing him there helped me to focus. It was like the movies when everything seems to happen in slow motion. I had been out of control, fighting against Adam, keeping him agitated. Then Grissom was there and I knew that I had to think or I could die. And I wasn't ready to die. I kept talking. I agreed with whatever Adam was saying and I waited on a chance. When it came I took it. I was away from him and out the door so fast that I didn't realize what had happened until later.

I didn't expect Grissom to follow me. I expected him to stay with the evidence, with Adam. But there he was, standing behind me, his hands hovering over my shoulders. I could feel his heat along my back and I wanted to turn and bury myself against him. Instead, I drew in a shaky breath, wiped my eyes and walked away. Funny, he followed. We were leaning against the wall in a mental institution when I told him about how the place reminded me of my mother. Grissom did something that he wouldn't have done three months earlier. He offered to have someone replace me. Then I did something I couldn't have done three months earlier. I thanked him. And I stayed.

Grissom drove me home the next morning. He was insistent that I get some sleep and even though I doubted it would be possible I agreed to try. We had been spending some time together. We ate breakfast together quite frequently. I had even started keeping a little food in my apartment for days that we ended up there. I wasn't quite ready to be alone so I invited him in. Somehow we ended up in the kitchen bumping into each other while he scrambled eggs and I worked the toaster. As much as I didn't want to admit it I was comfortable with him there. But Grissom was anything but comfortable. He was very quiet, more so than usual. He kept looking at me like he had never seen me before. When I'd catch his eye, he'd look away.

This went on during the entire meal and even while we were cleaning up. I put the last plate in the cabinet, turned around and Grissom was right there. I didn't get a chance to say anything before he brought his hands up to my cheeks, mumbled that he could have lost me and kissed me. I froze. Never in a million years did I expect that. I had imagined our first kiss thousands of times and not one of my fantasies included a kitchen or the smell of hospital disinfectant. But you take what you get and make the best of it. So I kissed him back. I wrapped my arms around his waist and I poured everything I had into it. I found something that day that I had been looking for my entire life. I found my place in the world.

One kiss. One incredibly hot, amazingly sweet kiss and I was lost. He didn't say anything about love or forever or even tomorrow but he spoke volumes. I wanted to ask him to stay but I knew that, after eight years of denial, we wouldn't stop with a kiss and neither of us was ready for that. Instead, he went home and I curled up on the couch. I managed to sleep a little but my dreams flip flopped between terrifying and sensual. I was showered, dressed and waiting when Grissom came back to pick me up. We didn't talk about what had happened in my kitchen that morning. We just went to work and acted like it was any other day. But there was something different; some indefinable shift in our relationship.

We were still dancing around each other; sharing meals, watching television, talking. Neither of us called it dating. It just seemed like a silly word to use for whatever was between us. We weren't giddy teenagers with raging hormones. We were adults who had been through a lot of really bad things to get to this place. One thing had changed and that was that I didn't say goodbye to Grissom anymore without at least one kiss. The man had developed a serious fascination with my mouth. And he was such a good kisser. I was in a constant state of arousal. I wanted him. I had wanted him for years and being kissed by him convinced me that we would be good together. I was trying to work up the courage to seduce him when Nick was taken.

Twelve hours that seemed to last forever. Despite my jealousy I loved Nick. He was the kind of guy I sometimes wished I had fallen for. If I had a sister he would be the man I'd want for her. To see him in that box and know that we were working against the clock to save him was heart wrenching. So many things could have gone wrong. So many things did go wrong. But in the end we found him and that's all that really matters.

None of us had slept for well over twenty-four hours. We had all been on an emotional rollercoaster. Seeing Nick lying in that hospital bed, his body swollen, features almost unrecognizable, was just about more than I could take. I didn't want to leave Grissom. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted him to comfort me. But no one knew that we were doing whatever it was that we were doing and it didn't seem prudent to let them find out. When we left the hospital everyone went their separate ways. Grissom headed back to meet with the sheriff. Catherine, Warrick, Greg and I all went home. I was curled up on the couch trying to read when Grissom knocked on my door. One look at his face and I pulled him inside and closed the door.

Without a word he was in my arms, or maybe I was in his. He was kissing me like he would never get another chance. There was heat and need and something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I made love with Grissom that morning and again that afternoon. The first time was hot and hard and almost savage, as if we could erase a lifetime of hurt in a single act. The next was slow and sweet and gentle, a healing. Both of them were more than I ever thought possible. In between we slept curled around each other, his big body warm and solid against mine. Later, before work, we talked. We talked about Nick and fear and second chances. We talked about how limited our time on earth really is. We talked about our future. We talked about love. We talked about coming home.

Rationalizations, revelations and realizations shaped our fifth year in Vegas. Sometimes it seems like it was our darkest time. We were so far apart. Maybe that's what it took for us to find our way back to each other. However it happened I will be forever grateful


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. I'd let them have a little fun.

A/N: Many thanks to Cropper and dreamsofhim for all their help. They are wonderful!!!! Spoilers through Season 5.

Grissom's Story

I spent the end of Sara's fourth year in Vegas without her. She was on vacation, albeit a forced one. When I took her to get her car the night after I picked her up from the police station I explained that she would be taking some time off and that she would be required to complete a series of PEAP counseling sessions. The county's policy was very clear and I made sure she understood failure to complete her required sessions could get her fired. She was amazingly obedient something I didn't expect. Her attitude about the entire situation worried me more than I wanted her to know. There was such an air of defeat about her. I had never seen her so cowed. She was usually a strong, vibrant woman. I wanted the old Sara back and hoped that her time away from work would make that happen.

That month was the longest we had been apart since she had arrived in Vegas to stay. If I said that I missed her I would only be telling half the truth. I missed her smile and her laugh. I missed her quick thinking. I missed seeing her in the halls. I didn't miss the tension. I didn't miss having to walk on eggshells around her for fear of hurting her feelings. I didn't miss hiding my feelings behind a mask of indifference. I didn't miss the need to ignore how she felt about me. I was conflicted; breathing a sigh of relief and feeling guilty over it, wanting to call her and afraid she wouldn't answer, knowing she needed time to get herself together and wanting to be the one she leaned on. It wasn't until she came back that I realized I had been counting the days until she returned.

Her first night back was total chaos. Greg had finally found someone to take over DNA, I was trying to work with him on his final proficiency, Catherine was yelling about the size of her office and there seemed to be dead bodies turning up all over town. I knew that I had to do a follow up on Sara's counseling but that was the furthest thing from my mind. She did try to talk to me. I'm not sure if it was about that or something else. But there was so much going on and she said we could do it later. I practically jumped at the chance to have one less thing to deal with. If I could have seen the future I like to think I would have taken the time to listen.

I don't think I saw Sara for almost two weeks after that first night. She was at work but she didn't seek me out. She didn't hang in my doorway. Of course I didn't make any effort to track her down either. I was waiting for her to come to me just like she always had. Then I heard that she had put herself at risk by removing a door from a closet full of pipe bombs. I couldn't believe she could be so reckless. I had hoped that type of behavior was behind her. I refused to acknowledge that she had only done what I would have under the same circumstances. When I asked her about it she assured me she wasn't a drunk with a death wish. I never thought she was. I knew, deep down, that there was something wrong and it wasn't alcohol. I was worried but too afraid of getting sucked in by her problems to really talk to her.

A lot of things happened during the first couple of months of that year: people using their youngest child as an organ donor for their terminally ill son, an entire neighborhood of wife swappers, the blue paint killer returning and a butcher who preyed on transgenders who had been denied surgery by actual surgeons. Even for Vegas, it was a crazy time. Then there was the one case that set into motion the events that would change my life and the lives of everyone on the team.

Ecklie was promoted to Assistant Director of the Lab. Now, I'll be the first to admit that we haven't always seen eye-to-eye. I don't really like Conrad and have been known to take delight in his misfortune. I never claimed to be above that sort of thing. I honestly believe he is the personification of the Peter Principal. My only mistake where Conrad was concerned was underestimating his desire to hurt me. I expected him to fling a little mud. I expected him to look under a few rocks. I didn't expect him to launch a full scale attack against me.

I was testifying at a retrial of a case that had resulted in a conviction three years earlier. I pride myself in always being prepared on the stand. I feel that giving testimony is a central part of my job and I strive to always give my best. So I was completely taken aback when I looked at a vital piece of evidence and saw something that hadn't been there at the first trial. Now there was a logical explanation. However, the new evidence proved that the wrong man had been convicted of the crime. That is something I would never want to happen. What I looked at as an error that needed to be corrected, Ecklie looked at as an opportunity. He brought in Sofia Curtis to lead an inquiry into the case. But that wasn't all he did.

He spent days talking to all the members of my team. He was looking for dirt. He wanted to prove that I wasn't a capable supervisor. But Conrad's idea of a supervisor and mine are two different things. He thought that paperwork and meetings and budgets were what determined a person's ability to lead. He had no bond with the people who worked for him so he didn't understand how my team functioned. However, Conrad is nothing if not efficient. He dug up enough dirt to get what he wanted from the Sheriff and he split up my team. He screwed me and Catherine and Sofia and he took delight in doing it. He screwed himself, too. He just didn't know it at the time.

It is a fact that you don't know what you've got until it's gone. I have always held myself apart from the people around me. I have often prided myself on the ability to keep my emotions in check. It wasn't until I was faced with losing Nick, Warrick and Catherine that I realized how important they were to me. I was stunned, dismayed. I felt like the rug had been snatched out from under me and I didn't know what to do. I still saw the guys but it was different. They worked for Catherine and I was no longer the one they came to for advice or direction. I didn't realize how much their trust in me meant. I didn't realize a lot of things.

Ecklie had delivered his own brand of justice to Sofia also. He assigned her to find some sort of malfeasance on my part related to the magically appearing evidence. She looked, just like the good minion she was. She just didn't find anything because there was nothing to find. But he couldn't accept that. So he punished her by removing her as acting supervisor of days and making her a member of the night shift. She didn't deserve that. And I felt sorry for her.

It had been almost six weeks since Ecklie had split up the team, four months since Sara's return to work, and I hadn't managed to find a moment to talk to her. I wasn't dealing well with things, I was feeling overwhelmed and I had actually forgotten. I was totally unprepared for her appearance in my office. I think she was trying to apologize for whatever she said to Ecklie but then, as often happens with her, things went a little off track. I referred to myself as her boss and she started babbling. "You've always been more than a boss to me." "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?" "…Complicated relationship…my fault…" "Look for validation in inappropriate places." I don't know which of us was more embarrassed. And then I did it again. What is it about Sara that turns me into a blithering idiot? I was going to ask her out but I choked. I should have told her she was more than an employee to me and that I was glad she moved to Vegas. I should have told her that I missed her while she was gone and that I wanted to fix things between us. All those years and all those wasted opportunities and I still couldn't make my lips form the words. And then, just like Sara always does, she cut me off and ran.

Even thought the next few weeks were calm, I dodged Sara whenever possible. I had been doing that constantly since her vacation. She was so caught up in her own things that I'm not so sure she even realized I was avoiding her. But you can miss so much if you aren't paying attention and I wasn't paying attention. If I had been, I might have seen a warning sign and then things wouldn't have unfolded the way they did.

Sara had just finished up a case and Catherine was hurting for man power on swing so I loaned her out. I thought everything was fine. I didn't see any reason that she couldn't help out. The whole thing was routine, as much as anything we do is routine. I should have known that Sara's only routine is unpredictability. I show up at work about an hour after Conrad has suspended her. He was still livid. I think he had spent that hour working himself into more of a temper. He wanted Sara fired. When I protested he started yelling about insolence and insubordination. Now I know Sara isn't always cool headed. Let's face it, she can be mouthy. I figured she had spouted off about something but I couldn't imagine it being bad enough to warrant her termination. Boy was I wrong. This time she went too far. She harassed the primary suspect in the case. She told Catherine that she let her sexuality cloud her judgment about men. And if that weren't bad enough, she did this in the middle of the hallway right outside Ecklie's office. He heard every word. Finally, to put a cap on her day, Sara went off on Ecklie.

By the time I knocked on her door I had calmed down a little. I was determined to get the truth out of her no matter what it took. I wanted to know why. I knew what the evidence said. I knew that all signs pointed to Sara being out of control. But I didn't care about that. I cared about her. She can be stubborn but then so can I. She threw out some psycho-babble bullshit. 'I have a problem with authority', 'I pick emotionally unavailable men', I'm self-destructive'. I just stood there and listened. Then I told her she was rationalizing. She told me to leave it alone and I simply refused. I was afraid we were going to go on like that indefinitely. Then she caved.

If I thought Sara had kept me off balance in the past with her emotions and her neediness and her sheer stubbornness I was wrong. When she started talking it was with her usual attitude. But as her story unfolded I began to see another side of her and I was ashamed of myself. She couldn't meet my eyes when she told me that her mother had killed her father. If she was trying to shock me it worked. I didn't know what to say. How do you respond to something like that? I mumbled some silly platitudes, hoping I could fumble my way through this without too many mistakes. I don't think she remembered that I was there as her story started to pour out. I can still hear it word for word in my head.

_My first memories of my family were not of violence. I remember my mother's cookies and her hugs. I remember my father's laughter and being carried on his shoulders at the local fair. I remember my brother and his friends playing in the backyard and then piling into the kitchen for something to drink. I don't know exactly when things started to change or what caused them to. It's like I woke up one day and realized that there were no cookies being baked and my brother was never at home. I realized there was no laughter in my house anymore. _

_I knew that both my parents drank. I guess they were alcoholics. But I didn't think that was a problem because I never knew life any other way. I was so young, so oblivious. I can't pinpoint when the violence started. I just remember that there were times I couldn't hug my mother because it hurt her. I do remember the first time he hit me. I remember what it felt like when the back of his hand slammed into my cheek. It felt like my face exploded. I couldn't even cry. I lay where I fell and stared up at him. He looked so tall and so scary. My whole life changed in that moment. I lost the first little bit of my innocence. I was five years old._

_Things only got worse. I didn't have any friends. I couldn't ever have anyone at my house and the other mothers got tired of me always being around. Of course, there were the rumors about my family. Even then, people didn't want to get involved. They didn't want their children exposed to my kind; as if I were responsible for what my parents did. It doesn't matter what the reasons were I still spent a lot of time alone. I liked to read and ride my bike. But, slowly, I began to assume the responsibilities that my mother couldn't handle. I cooked and cleaned. I did laundry. I tried my best to make sure that everything was just the way my father liked it so that he wouldn't get mad and nobody would get hurt. _

_I was an awkward child. I had big teeth and the gap between the two front ones. I had freckles and pale skin and spiky hair. I was short and pudgy. Then something happened. The summer before my thirteenth birthday I grew almost six inches. My baby fat melted away. I had breasts and legs and a waist. My goofy grin didn't look so goofy anymore. I was becoming a woman. I was very self-conscious. I wasn't so sure I wanted boobs and all the stuff that came with them. I saw how men and women treated each other and I definitely didn't want any of that._

_I had no idea about sex. By the time I was old enough to understand that kind of thing my mother was in no condition to have the talk. And since I didn't have any friends I had no one to talk to. So the night that my dad came into my room and woke me up I was honestly afraid he was going to kick my ass for something he thought I had done. I would have been so much better off if he had. _

_I could smell the liquor on his breath. Nothing new about that but I will never forget that smell for as long as I live. I could smell something else – this sweaty odor. I've smelled it since then and now I know I smelled fear. He seemed so calm. He came in and sat on the side of my bed. I woke up to him shaking me and whispering my name. I really don't remember much after that. It's all a blur. He pinned me down and started touching me. His hand was over my mouth. He kept talking to me. Telling me how I had asked for it, how I flaunted myself in front of him. He tore my clothes. And somehow he was inside me. I must have passed out. I don't know how long it went on or if he…if he came inside me. I don't remember anything past that first excruciating pain. When I woke up I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean up. I planned to go back to bed and never tell a soul. For better or worse my mother picked that moment to stumble in on me. _

_She was so composed. She helped me clean up and she changed my sheets. She hugged me and kissed away my tears. She sat with me until I could sleep. She promised to take me to the doctor the next day after school. I remember just listening to her voice and thinking that she was lying. How could she take me to the doctor and explain what had happened? They would want to put my father in jail and she would never let that happen. I remember being so mad at her because she had never had the guts to stand up to him. There were so many things I wanted to say and do and I just did nothing. I went to sleep. I got up the next morning and went to school. I rode the bus home. And when I walked in the house there was my mother sitting on the couch and covered in blood. I remember trying to talk to her and she just stared right through me. Finally, I went to find dad. I walked through their bedroom door and there he was. I used the phone in the kitchen to call the police and then sat beside mom on the couch and waited. I was holding her hand when they knocked on the door. The only thing she said to me during this whole time was 'don't tell them what he did to you'. And I just kept thinking that if I was still short and fat and ugly this never would have happened. It was my thirteenth birthday._

_I was just a child. I was supposed to have sleepovers and dates. I was supposed to get in trouble for spending too much time on the phone. Instead I was visiting my mother in a mental hospital and standing dry-eyed and guilty as my father was put in the ground. I was supposed to giggle and talk about boys and learn how to put on makeup. Instead I was moving between foster homes and listening to the people who should have been my friends talk about me. I did the only thing I knew to do. I kept it all inside. I pasted a smile on my face and never told anybody about what was really going on. Eventually, I convinced myself that none of it really mattered._

I sat there silent and shocked. My heart was breaking into a million pieces. I wanted to weep for that little girl who couldn't hug her mother. I wanted to weep for every pain she had suffered, every blow that had fallen on her. But when she told me about the rape I wanted to kill her father myself. I wanted to bring the bastard back from the dead so that I could beat him to a bloody pulp. Finally I understood Sara's anger. Finally I understood her passion about the victims. Finally I understood her ability to empathize with those women who were beaten or raped or terrorized by the men in their lives. I had never felt so helpless in my life. I sat there like a lump, holding her hand and listening to her words as they hammered against my brain. I brought her water and tissues. I tried to keep my expression neutral but I could feel my jaw tightening. I couldn't offer her words of wisdom – mine or anyone else's. I couldn't defend her honor. I couldn't go back and undo what had been done to her. So I tugged her over to sit beside me and wrapped my arms around her. I held her while she cried, my tears falling on her hair, and told her over and over how sorry I was. But underneath all my anger and sadness was a feeling of admiration for the woman who had walked through hell and come out whole on the other side.

We sat there for hours. We talked about a lot of things; my childhood, our relationship, her need for more therapy. I found something with Sara that day that I hadn't found anywhere else, ever. I found someone who could reach beyond the wall around my heart. I found someone I admired, someone I trusted. I found someone who trusted me enough to be honest. I didn't want to leave her. I wanted to sit there with her in my arms forever. But that wasn't about to happen so I kissed her cheek, told her to lock up and promised I'd be back. She looked a little skeptical. Who could blame her? But I had realized something during the time I had spent in her apartment. I realized that Sara was the woman I loved. I had tried to push her away. I had tried to deny my feelings for her. I had run and run and run and I had almost run too far. She had finally decided she didn't need me and I suddenly realized it was me who needed her.

I have gone out on a limb for every one of my employees at one time or another, everyone but Sara. I had always followed the book with her on everything. I had never cut her any slack but all that was about to change. I went in, walked right into Ecklie's office, and confronted both Conrad and Catherine. I refused to fire Sara. I shouldered all the blame for her behavior. I felt responsible because if I hadn't been trying so hard to keep her at arms length I could have seen things a whole lot clearer a whole lot sooner. Not only did I stand up to Ecklie, I stood up to Catherine. She might have been one of the oldest friends but I didn't owe her an explanation either. Sara kept her job and I kept my word.

I went back to Sara's the next morning when my shift ended. I went back every morning of the five days she was suspended. I took breakfast, trying to pretend I wanted to make sure she was eating. But those visits weren't about her. They were about us. We talked about a lot of things during that week. There were a lot of apologies. There was a lot of forgiveness. There was a lot of healing. Sara made an appointment with her PEAP counselor. And I made a promise to myself. I was going to earn her love if it was the last thing I did. I wasn't sure how but I intended to figure it out.

Sara came back to work with a new attitude. I wanted her to feel she could come to me if things got rough. I was working hard at being her friend. I wanted her to know I cared so I made the time to let her know. It was the day Sara's suspension ended that Sofia told me she was quitting. I understood her reasons. Like I said, I thought she was screwed over in Ecklie's vendetta. I didn't want anyone at the lab to overhear our conversation so I took Sofia to dinner. I had learned my lesson about the gossip mill that was the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I knew I needed to get to Sara before she heard some outrageous story that had me fucking the woman on the hood of my car in the parking lot. She seemed surprised to see me. I should have known then I was a little late. But I was a little clueless until she told me I should have been with Sofia. I stood there for a few seconds, my mouth working like a fish gasping for air, before my brain kicked in. Then I explained what had really happened. I told her I wasn't interested in Sofia and hoped she could read between the lines. She stood there for a moment, mouth open and eyes wide, before she offered to cook breakfast. We ate and I left. I lay awake for a long time pondering my sudden urge to explain myself to Sara Sidle.

It was the last week of April, and Sara and I caught a case at Desert State Mental Hospital. She seemed nervous. I was still not good at reading her signals so I made a silent vow to keep an eye on her. I was hoping this would be something quick and easy but that wasn't meant to be. We spent days going in and out of that place, collecting evidence, interviewing employees and patients. We had been told to always stay together and we followed those instructions time after time. Then I left to find keys to locked filing cabinets and all hell broke loose. Adam Trent attacked Sara.

I have never been so scared. Not when my father died. Not when I kissed my first girl. Not when I gave my first lecture. Not when I thought I was going to lose my hearing forever. Nothing had ever scared me the way seeing Sara through that window did. It was like the movies when everything seems to happen in slow motion. I could feel her fear. I could almost smell it. When he shoved that shank against her throat I could feel it. My heart was pounding. I wanted her to remain calm. She was out of control, fighting him, antagonizing him. Then our eyes met and something passed between us. She seemed to find her strength. She stopped struggling and waited on her chance. When it came, she took it. One second she was locked in that room and the next she was running down the hall.

I didn't intend to follow her. I knew I needed to stay with the evidence. But I couldn't find the energy to care. I followed her to the end of the hall and stood as close as I dared. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I wanted to hold her until she stopped shaking. I saw her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. I saw her scrub furiously at her cheeks, wiping away the tears she wouldn't let me see and she walked away. I followed. We were leaning against the wall in a mental institution when she told me about how the place reminded her of her mother. I did something that I couldn't have done three months earlier. I offered to have someone replace her. Then Sara did something she wouldn't have done three months earlier. She thanked me. And she stayed.

I couldn't stand to let Sara out of my sight. I managed to convince her to let me drive her home. I wanted to make sure she was safe. We had been spending some time together. We ate breakfast together quite frequently. She had even started keeping a little food in her apartment for days that we ended up there. So it wasn't anything unusual for her to invite me to stay. Somehow we ended up in the kitchen bumping into each other while I scrambled eggs and she worked the toaster. Being comfortable in Sara's kitchen was something I had never expected. I was in a strange mood that day. I knew that I had to tell her how I felt. I knew that I had to do something so that she didn't go out and find another Hank. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I was teetering on the edge of something huge and I was terrified.

We ate and cleaned up in silence. It wasn't until Sara was putting the last plate away that I got up the nerve to do what had been on my mind since I stood behind her in that hallway. I moved to stand behind her and when she turned around I brought my hands up to her cheeks, mumbled that I could have lost her and then kissed her. She froze. Never in a million years did I expect that. I had expected heat. But I had imagined our first kiss thousands of times and not one of my fantasies included a kitchen or the smell of hospital disinfectant. Sometimes life has a funny way of putting you in your place. So you take what you get and make the best of it. I was just about to pull away, afraid that I had fucked up yet again when she kissed me back. Her arms were around my waist and we were kissing each other like it would be the last chance we ever had. I found something that day that I had been looking for my entire life. I found my place in the world.

One kiss. One incredibly hot, amazingly sweet kiss and I was lost. I didn't say anything about love or forever or even tomorrow. I was still too intimidated by those words. But I knew that I would never be able to live without touching her again. I wanted to stay but I knew that neither of us was ready for that. Instead, I went home and tried to sleep. My dreams were filled with images of Sara; Sara laughing, Sara crying, Sara aroused, Sara with Adam Trent trying to kill her. I finally gave up on sleep and just lay there thinking of a way to tell her how I felt until it was time to go to work. She was showered, dressed and waiting when I went to pick her up. We didn't talk about what had transpired in her kitchen that morning. We went to work like nothing had happened. But there was something different; some indefinable shift in our relationship.

We were still dancing around each other; sharing meals, watching television, talking. Neither of us called it dating. It just seemed like a silly word to use for whatever was between us. We weren't giddy teenagers with raging hormones. We were adults who had been through a lot of really bad things to get to this place. One thing had changed and that was that I didn't say goodbye to Sara anymore without at least one kiss. I had developed a serious fascination with her mouth. She was such a good kisser and I couldn't help but wonder what else she would be good at. She had a mouth made for sin. I was in a constant state of arousal. I wanted her. I had wanted her since Berkeley. Being kissed by her, being able to kiss her convinced me that we would be good together. I was trying to take things slow, let her get used to the idea of us, when Nick was taken

Twelve hours that seemed to last forever. I was scared we wouldn't find him in time. One mistake, one miscalculation and we would have been visiting his grave instead of his hospital bed. At one time I had thought that Sara had feelings for Nick and that made me jealous. But, despite my jealousy, I loved Nick. He was the kind of guy she should have fallen for; someone young and open and kind. If I had a daughter he would be the man I'd want for her. To see him in that box and know that we were working against the clock to save him was heart wrenching. So many things could have gone wrong. So many things did go wrong. But in the end we found him and that's all that really matters.

None of us had slept for well over twenty-four hours. We had all been on an emotional rollercoaster. Seeing Nick lying in that hospital bed, his body swollen, his features almost unrecognizable, was just about more than I could take. I realized two things as I stood there. One – I was praying. Two – I didn't have to face this alone. I had Sara to lean on. I wanted her to hold me. But no one knew that we were doing whatever it was that we were doing and it didn't seem prudent to let them find out. When we left the hospital everyone went their separate ways. I headed back to meet with the sheriff. Catherine, Warrick, Greg and Sara all went home. She had obviously been on the couch when I knocked on her door, a blanket and an abandoned book giving her away. I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because she took one look at me, pulled me inside and closed the door.

She was in my arms, or maybe I was in hers, without a word. I was kissing her like I would never get another chance. There was heat and need and something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I made love with Sara that morning and again that afternoon. The first time was hot and hard and almost savage, as if we could erase the previous day. The next was slow and sweet and gentle, a healing. In between we slept curled around each other, her long arms and legs holding me and reminding me I never had to be alone again. Later, before work, we talked. We talked about Nick and fear and second chances. We talked about how limited our time on earth really is. We talked about our future. We talked about love. We talked about coming home.

Rationalizations, revelations and realizations shaped our fifth year in Vegas. Sometimes it seems like it was our darkest time. We were so far apart. Maybe that's what it took for us to find our way back to each other. However it happened I will be forever grateful.

"In a hierarchy every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence." Formulated by Dr. Laurence J. Peter (courtesy of Wikipedia)


	13. Chapter 13

Defining Moments

Chapter 7 – Sara's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were though.

A/N: This has been an incredible journey. Real life has been sucking me in lately and that has put a damper on my writing. I apologize that this has taken so long and I hope that it will be worth it for you guys. Thanks to everyone who has stuck it out. I will be writing a section for Season 7 but not until after the finale. A special thanks to dreamsofhim and Cropper for all the help and encouragement.

Why did I expect everything with Grissom to just fall into place? I must have been crazy. We had been dancing around each other for eight years. Eight years of push and pull, feast and famine, love and hate and everything in between. We were together but there was no epiphany, no chorus of angels or blinding light. There was conversation and hot sex and absolute panic. I was scared to death.

We didn't know how to be together. We had spent so much time learning to be apart that we were in uncharted territory. Things were really good for the first three or four months. But that was because we were having sex constantly. I don't mean to make it sound like there was nothing else between us but we had years' of frustration to erase. It was like a dam had burst. We had sex in every conceivable position, employing every flat surface we could find. It was amazing. He is an incredible lover. That intense focus he uses on evidence and criminals isn't left out of the bedroom. And that odd grace he has carries over into his lovemaking. Those things, coupled with the fact that Grissom hadn't had sex with anyone since he met me, meant I had never been loved so well or so thoroughly. Why couldn't everything between us be that simple, that fundamental?

I thought I was ready to share my life, my home, with someone else. To give Grissom credit, he thought he felt the same way. But the reality was far different from any fantasy. I had expected domestic bliss. I'm not sure why since I had never been exposed to that phenomenon. I had expected hours curled up on the couch reading, watching television and talking about all sorts of things. And we did that for a while. However, it wasn't long before we were feeling the strain of being together constantly. If spending twenty-four hours a day with someone is hard for normal people then Grissom and I didn't stand a chance. Let's face it, we worked together, slept together, ate together; we did everything together. Truth be told, I was grateful when I had a day off without him and I'm sure he felt the same way. I needed to breathe my own air and inhabit my own space – space that didn't contain Grissom.

We had our first argument after about four months of constant togetherness. It had been building for a few weeks. We were snapping at each other over silly things. Neither of us wanted to be the first one to ask for a break. I thought he wanted me there all the time and I was a little afraid that if I asked for some space he would use that opportunity to run as far and fast as he could. I was so bad at this that I didn't know how to deal with my need for alone time. Regardless of the reasons the blush was off the rose.

Grissom and I are experts at cryptic conversations. We can carry on an argument in front of a room full of people and none of them would ever realize we were fighting. Our first official argument started when Grissom told me he needed to work on an article after work one day. When we got to his place he closed himself in his office. I eventually went to bed without him and woke up alone. He slept on the couch. He made some lame excuse about not wanting to wake me up. A couple of days later I left work first which meant he would come to me when he was done. Again, I woke up alone. I got the same excuse as before. I was waiting for the talk. You know the one. Grissom would tell me that I was a great friend but he didn't think he could love me the way I deserved. And then we caught the Lester case.

A married couple who didn't share a bed turned out to be the catalyst that Grissom needed to tell me what was on his mind. We were standing in Mrs. Lester's bedroom when Grissom tells me they were probably suffocating each other and Mr. Lester couldn't breathe. Now I could have taken that at face value but I know my man too well. I knew immediately that he was talking about us. My remark was a little more direct. The man seemed to think that the term 'sleeping together' really meant '_sleeping _together'. I figured it was my job to disabuse him of that notion. We had a long talk after work that night and decided to slow things down a little. After all, we went from barely being friends to practically living together almost overnight. We decided to start dating. Sounds kind of funny but we have never done anything in the traditional manner. Putting on the brakes seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

It was a couple of weeks later that we were called in on a case in another county. Grissom was on his way to teach a class and he sent me out to help the guys. I met up with Nick, Warrick and Greg in a little town about two hundred miles from Vegas. We spent three days up there working that case. It gave Grissom and me some much needed time apart. It gave us both a chance to step back and take a deep breath. I realized how much I missed having him around. I figured out that I had come to rely on his constant presence and that I didn't mind it one bit. That trip gave me something else too. It gave me a chance to see how much Nick's abduction had changed him – and not for the good.

Nick had taken some time off after he was released from the hospital. He spent time with his parents and siblings. He spent time with a psychologist. He felt that he was ready to come back to work. I don't think he was. Nick has always been the guy that everybody likes. He has this open personality that just pulls people to him. He's not afraid to shed a tear. But after those hours he spent in the ground he was different. It was easier to make him mad. He lost his patience quicker. He was a different person and the changes I saw in him worried me. It never occurred to me that Nick and I had changed places. As I was moving forward and healing he had become the angry, risk taking rebel.

Nick's abduction had changed all our lives, both personally and professionally. We had been a team before Ecklie split us up. Now that we were back together we were closer. Somehow, despite all our differences, we had pulled together to rescue one of our own and we were bonded in a way that outsiders couldn't understand. That doesn't mean we had to be together all the time. We didn't start having group outings or weekly breakfasts. We didn't all plan to take a vacation together. Instead, the six of us shared a deep sense of respect and affection that hadn't been there before. We had become a family.

The only casualties of our being back together were Sofia and Catherine. Sofia chose to leave Vegas. She took a job as a detective in Boulder City shortly after Nick's rescue. But she didn't stay there long. About three months after she left she was back in Vegas as a detective. Strangely enough, I didn't care. I liked her much better now that she wasn't constantly in my face. Maybe I was just a little more confident in my place with both the team and with Grissom.

Catherine's path didn't end as well as Sofia's. She was demoted. I'm not sure exactly what happened. I think she agreed to move back to nights but it is possible she wasn't given a choice. Whatever the reason, she was back with the rest of us. Grissom went out of his way to not step on her toes. There was something different about their relationship though. There had been a power shift and it had moved in Grissom's direction. Come to think of it, there had been a power shift between Catherine and me too. I'm not sure what brought it on but she seemed to have accepted that I was in Vegas to stay.

Another strange thing to come out of those twelve hours was Warrick's marriage. Let's be honest, he had been dating Tina for less than five months when they decided to get married. What are the odds that a marriage based on fear and convenience, performed at a drive-thru chapel in Sin City is going to last for eternity? This is a gambling town but nobody will take that bet. I couldn't believe that Warrick, the one Grissom always said was the most like him, would do something so foolish. He invited no one. He told no one. He just showed up at work with a ring and told us he got married on his day off. What a crock. The problem is none of us have ever even met her. Not that he has to introduce us but there are plenty of opportunities and all we get are excuses. Of course he may just want to keep his private life private. Who am I to judge?

Las Vegas has its fair share of crime. There are the obvious things like trick rolls and car theft and purse snatching. Then there are the rapes and murders; although, those happen less frequently than one would imagine. But one thing we don't normally get is a high-speed police chase through downtown, especially not with gunfire. That's just what we had though. It was a week long nightmare. There was a thirteen-year-old boy shot for his bicycle. There were dead suspects and angry citizens. There was a sniper who took out one of the suspects within five feet of Warrick. There was a dead cop. And he was killed by one of our own.

It's really hard to work the evidence when it is one of your friends whose career is on the line. Brass and Sofia were both on administrative leave until it was determined if one of them was responsible for the death of Officer Bell. We all spent hours going over every inch of that alley for evidence. And when we found the truth we all wished we hadn't. Brass shot a fellow officer. None of us wanted to believe it. We all care about Brass. He's snarky and somewhat overbearing but he's a good cop. He cares deeply about the job and about the people he works with. This was hard for us all but especially for Grissom. He actually drove over to Brass' house and gave him the news in person. He told me he didn't want to leave something like that to a phone call because Jim deserved better. It was then that I realized just how long the two men had been working together and what type of bond they shared.

It was during this time that I had my first protective girlfriend moment. It wasn't a jealous fit or anything like that. I saw Grissom in a bad position and I went in like a mama bear protecting her cub. It seems so silly now but at the time I was full of righteous indignation. Sofia, who shouldn't have been in the building, decided it would be a good idea to show up in Grissom's office. Now, I knew that he had no interest in the other woman but that didn't mean she had no interest in him. And the man is so oblivious that he just didn't see it. But that wasn't really an issue. The problem was her being there at all. Grissom could have lost his job. The case could have been compromised. There were so many reasons why she shouldn't have been in his office. But I walked in and she's standing there telling him how she's feels about the shooting and I just lost it. I did everything but physically throw her out of the building. She was not a happy girl. She kept looking to Grissom for help – like he was going to tell her to stay. It wasn't until much later that I thought about how I had jeopardized our secret.

Keeping our relationship from our co-workers was hard at first. I am a very private person but I'm also a very affectionate person. I like to touch and be touched. I'm not talking about sex on the layout table – although the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I'm talking about a hand on his arm when I'm trying to make a point, brushing chalk off his face if he needs it, stealing food from his plate when we're eating in the break room; simple things that everyday couples do every day. But, again, nothing could ever be that easy. We weren't necessarily breaking any rules but there was always the fear that our relationship would be used against us somehow. There was also a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that things would fall apart. If that happened then I didn't want to have to answer questions or deal with sympathy from my friends. It's a good thing that no one was aware of our status when Lady Heather's daughter was killed because I couldn't have made it through that time with so much as a pitying glance from anyone in the lab.

I had heard a lot of things about Heather over the years. I heard about her beauty and how she exudes sex. I heard about the house and some of the things that have gone on there. I knew that Catherine admired her strength if not her profession. But it was the things I heard about her actions during this case that convinced me she wasn't a person I wanted to know. I can understand being angry and wanting to do something to find the man who killed her child. I can't understand how she could sleep with him in order to obtain a DNA sample. Hasn't she ever heard of having coffee? Bring us a cup, not a used condom. As if that weren't sick enough, she attempted to kill the man. She was well on the way to beating him to death when Grissom found them. Later, when everything was over, he told me about what had happened. I decided then and there that I had no respect for the formidable Lady Heather.

It's funny really, as many times as Lady Heather has crossed paths with the law, I've never met the woman. I'm not sure if that is totally an accident. Maybe Grissom is arranging things so that we don't run into each other. If that's the case maybe I should have believed the rumors from a few years ago. I couldn't just let it go. That's not me. I had to find out if he had any feelings for her at all. So I just asked him. And he answered. He admitted to being attracted to her but denied ever doing anything about it; actually, he told me he hadn't had sex with anyone since he met me. I didn't even know what to say. Talk about feeling guilty. It sounds strange but it's true. I thought about Hank and a couple of guys from San Francisco and I felt guilty. But guilty or not the past is the past and it can't be changed. Only the future is ours to do with as we will and I intended to make up for every minute I had missed with Grissom.

We had settled into a rhythm of sorts. We had found a way to keep professional and personal separated and we were comfortable together. Oddly enough, once we admitted to ourselves that we were in a relationship, it was as if we had been together for years. I believe we had spent eight years dealing with our growing pains and once Grissom decided to move forward we had all that behind us. Been there, done that, don't need to do it again. I felt I was finally where I wanted to be. I was in a loving, stable relationship. I was coming into my own at work. I had a healthy outlet for all the stress and anger from the job. We were happy and then something unthinkable happened. Jim Brass was shot and something in Grissom changed. He became more introspective. He became more withdrawn. I could see the changes but I didn't know what to do. For all I thought I knew about him there was twice as much that I didn't know. Again, I never said things were easy.

I learned a lot of things about Grissom during our first year together. I found out he hated Brussels sprouts and loved John Grisham novels. I heard about his mother's hearing loss and that his first pet was a stray dog that followed him home from the beach one day. He kept it in the backyard for a week before his mother caught him feeding it. Apparently there were some perks to her not being able to hear. He told me that he was raised Catholic but had long since stopped attending Mass. He told me that the smell of my shampoo made him crazy. I discovered a playful man that I had only suspected existed outside the lab. He was a passionate and experimental lover, one who enjoyed giving pleasure as much as he enjoyed receiving it. From good food and wine to a slow kiss when I woke up, everything was a sensual experience with Grissom. He was everything I had imagined and more; sweet and loving and funny and interesting. He was affectionate without being clingy. He was also a bit of an enigma. He was holding something back. He would hold me and comfort me when things got bad but he wouldn't allow me to do the same for him. He kept his nightmares under wraps. Work Grissom and home Grissom were like two sides of one coin and there was no way the two would ever be seen at the same time. We were together but he was keeping that part of himself locked away. I didn't know why at the time but I had learned not to push him. So I just waited and hoped that I had enough love for both of us.


	14. Chapter 14

Defining Moments

Chapter 7 – Grissom's Story

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were though.

A/N: This has been an incredible journey. Real life has sucked me in lately and that interferes with writing. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this one. There will be chapters for Season 7 after the finale. A special thanks to dreamsofhim and Cropper for their help and encouragement.

Sara and I were together. I was with Sara. Why did the very thought of that leave me with a weightlessness in my stomach that was part joy and part terror? We had been dancing around each other for eight years. Eight years of push and pull, feast and famine, love and hate and everything in between. I had kept her at arm's length for so long and now we were together. And it was everything I had known it would be and more. I didn't need an epiphany, a chorus of angels or a blinding light. I had conversation and hot sex and absolute panic. I was scared to death.

We didn't know how to be together. I had spent so much time convincing myself that I couldn't have her that I was in uncharted territory. Things were really good for the first three or four months. Maybe that was because we were having sex constantly. I don't mean to make it sound like there was nothing else between us but we had years' of frustration to erase. It was like a dam had burst. We had sex in every conceivable position, employing every flat surface we could find. It was amazing and exhausting and a tad overwhelming. She is an incredible lover. I haven't always understood or approved of the way Sara let her emotions control her actions but I was not complaining when I was the recipient. I have always thought she was beautiful. But the first time I saw her naked, flushed and sweaty in my bed I was lost. I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to see her just like that forever. Why couldn't everything between us be that simple, that fundamental?

I thought I was ready to share my life, my home, with someone else. To give Sara credit, she thought she felt the same way. But the reality was far different from any fantasy. I didn't know what to expect. I had never lived with anyone other than my mother. I'm not sure what I expected to happen. I had dreamed of the sex and imagined hours curled up on the couch reading, watching television and talking about all sorts of things. And we did that for a while. However, it wasn't long before we were feeling the strain of being together constantly. If spending twenty-four hours a day with someone is hard for normal people then Sara and I didn't stand a chance. Let's face it, we worked together, slept together, ate together; we did everything together. Truth be told, I was grateful when I had a day off without her and I'm sure she felt the same way. I needed to breathe my own air and inhabit my own space – space that didn't contain Sara.

We had our first argument after about four months of constant togetherness. It had been building for a few weeks. We were snapping at each other. Neither of us wanted to be the first one to ask for a break. I thought she wanted me there all the time and I was a little afraid that if I asked for some space she would use that opportunity to run as far and fast as he could. I was so bad at this that I didn't know how to deal with my need for alone time. Regardless of the reasons the blush was off the rose.

Sara and I are experts at cryptic conversations. Sara has always understood me, always been able to read between the lines. Strangely enough, we can carry on an argument in front of a room full of people and none of them would ever realize we were fighting. Anyway, I was feeling crowded. I had been alone for thirty years and I was overloaded. I started making excuses to get some time alone. I told her I needed to work on an article after work one day and closed myself in my home office. When I finally came out Sara was in my bed so I slept on the couch. I didn't know what to say except that I didn't want to wake her up. A few days later I had to work late and instead of going to her place I just went home. I used the same excuse. I realized that Sara didn't believe what I was telling her. She had that look in her eyes – wounded and uncertain and a little afraid. I was trying to think of a way to tell her what was on my mind when we caught the Lester case.

A married couple who didn't share a bed turned out to be the just what I needed. We were standing in Mrs. Lester's bedroom talking about married people who don't share a bed when I opened my mouth and said they were probably suffocating each other. I told Sara that it was possible Mr. Lester couldn't breathe. Sara was quiet for a few seconds, her mind working. And then she tells me people don't have to sleep in the same bed to have sex – or romance. We had a long talk after work that night during which she explained that 'sleeping together' didn't really meant '_sleeping _together'. We decided to slow things down a little. After all, we went from barely being friends to practically living together almost overnight. We decided to start dating. Sounds kind of funny but we have never done anything in the traditional manner. Putting on the brakes seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

It was a couple of weeks later that I was headed off to teach a class at the body farm. It was an overnight trip and I was on my way to the airport when I got a call about a case in a little town about two hundred miles from Vegas. I called Sara and asked her to go up and meet the guys. She spent three days up there. Usually I was the one who did the leaving. I attended conferences and seminars. I taught classes. But this was the first time I could remember Sara not being within reach in over eight years. I needed the time apart to help me realize I missed having her around. I had come to rely on her constant presence and I didn't mind that thought one bit. But it was what Sara brought back with her that worried me more than a little.

Nick had taken some time off after he was released from the hospital. He spent time with his parents and siblings. He spent time with a counselor. He felt that he was ready to come back to work and I didn't question his judgment. He had an all clear from his doctor and the departmental psychologist and that seemed like enough. I should have learned something from Sara's troubles but I didn't. He wasn't ready – not by a long shot. Nick has always been the guy that everybody likes. He has this open personality that just pulls people to him. He's not afraid to shed a tear. But after those hours he spent in the ground he was different. It was easier to make him mad. He lost his patience quicker. He was a different person. When Sara told me about him attacking a suspect during interrogation I vowed to keep a closer eye on him. And to try to find Walter Gordon's accomplice so that Nick could have closure.

Nick's abduction had changed all our lives, both personally and professionally. We had been a team before Ecklie split us up. Now that we were back together we were closer. Somehow, despite all our differences, we had pulled together to rescue one of our own and we were bonded in a way that outsiders couldn't understand. That doesn't mean we had to be together all the time. We didn't start having group outings or weekly breakfasts. We didn't all plan to take a vacation together. Instead, the six of us shared a deep sense of respect and affection that hadn't been there before. We had become a family.

The only casualties of our being back together were Sofia and Catherine. Sofia chose to leave Vegas. She took a job as a detective in Boulder City shortly after Nick's rescue. But she didn't stay there long. About three months after she left she was back in Vegas as a detective. I was actually glad to have her back. She's a good investigator. She had learned some hard lessons and she seemed to realize that she wasn't up for the political games either.

Catherine's path didn't end as well as Sofia's. She was demoted. I think she realized she didn't want to deal with the added pressure. I had tried, repeatedly, to tell her how political the job could be. But she didn't understand until she was there. Part of the agreement was that she would maintain her pay and in exchange she would help me out with paperwork. It was a win/win situation. She could get practical experience and I could still be there to take the heat. I went out of my way to not step on her toes. I had never considered Catherine and me to be in a power struggle. I always knew she wanted my job. But there was something different about our relationship though. She seemed to have a new respect for my authority. I also noticed that she had a new attitude toward Sara – almost like Catherine had finally accepted that Sara was in Vegas to stay. It took me a while to realize that I had drawn the line and Catherine had decided not to cross it.

Another strange thing to come out of those twelve hours was Warrick's marriage. Let's be honest, he had been dating Tina for less than five months when they decided to get married. What are the odds that a marriage based on fear and convenience, performed at a drive-thru chapel in Sin City is going to last for eternity? This is a gambling town but nobody will take that bet. I couldn't believe that Warrick would do something so foolish. He invited no one. He told no one. He just showed up at work with a ring and told us he got married on his day off. It was a snap decision and I couldn't see anything good coming out of it. But I don't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong. He obviously didn't need any of us to be involved. He had a right to keep his private life private. Who am I to judge?

Las Vegas has its fair share of crime. There are the obvious things like trick rolls and car theft and purse snatching. Then there are the rapes and murders; although, those happen less frequently than one would imagine. But one thing we don't normally get is a high-speed police chase through downtown, especially not with gunfire. That's just what we had though. It was a week long nightmare. There was a thirteen-year-old boy shot for his bicycle. There were dead suspects and angry citizens. There was a sniper who took out one of the suspects within five feet of Warrick. There was a dead cop. And he was killed by one of our own.

It's really hard to work the evidence when it's one of your friends whose career is on the line. Brass and Sofia were both on administrative leave until it was determined if one of them was responsible for the death of Officer Bell. We all spent hours going over every inch of that alley for evidence. And when we found the truth we all wished we hadn't. Brass shot a fellow officer. I didn't want to believe it. None of us wanted to believe it. We all care about Brass. I have worked with him for over half of my professional life. He is probably the best friend I have. He can be rude and somewhat overbearing but he's a good cop. He cares deeply about the job and about the people he works with. This was hard for us all but especially for me. I couldn't leave this kind of news to a phone call. Jim deserved better than that. I drove over to his house and delivered it in person.

It was during this time that Sara had her first protective girlfriend moment. It wasn't a jealous fit or anything like that. I wouldn't have been so understanding about that. But when she marched into my office, full of righteous indignation, and practically threw Sofia out I couldn't be mad. It was kind of funny actually. She was like a mama bear protecting her cub and I was oddly touched. Sofia shouldn't have been in the building. But when I didn't return her phone calls she decided to show up in my office. I think she honestly needed somebody to talk to but it shouldn't have been me. She could have caused trouble for me, for herself, for Jim, for the entire case. Unfortunately, I'm not really good at confrontations like that and I didn't know how to get her out without causing a scene. And there was Sara to save the day. It wasn't until much later that I thought about how she had jeopardized our secret.

Keeping our relationship from our co-workers was hard at first. I'm a very private person but I'm also a very affectionate person. I like to touch and be touched. I'm not talking about sex on the layout table – although the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I'm talking about a hand on the small of her back when she's walking beside me, a hand on her shoulder when she's having a bad day, a chance to touch her without fear of repercussions; simple things that everyday couples do every day. But, again, nothing could ever be that easy. We weren't necessarily breaking any rules but there was always the fear that our relationship would be used against us somehow. There was also a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that things would fall apart. If that happened then I didn't want to have to answer questions or deal with sympathy from my friends. That's one reason that I was so determined to keep our relationship a secret.

When Lady Heather's daughter was killed I was woefully unprepared for the things I would learn. Heather was still as beautiful as I remembered. She still moved through a room like a quiet storm. She exuded sex and danger. But she quickly proved that I didn't know her at all and I wasn't sure that I really wanted to. I had spent years holding myself apart from the world, keeping my own counsel. I saw something in Heather that reminded me of…me. She seemed invulnerable, almost stoic, with an uncanny ability to read people. Suddenly, she was just a sad woman with no control over her emotions. I can understand being angry and wanting to do something to find the man who killed her child. I can't understand how she could sleep with him in order to obtain a DNA sample. She could have done a lot of things: met him for a drink, stolen his toothbrush, anything but what she did. Bring us a cup, not a used condom. As if that weren't enough, she attempted to kill the man. She was well on the way to beating him to death when I found them. To see such a formidable woman reduced to a complete mess reinforced my theory that not feeling too much was the best way to handle things.

It's funny really, as many times as Lady Heather has crossed paths with the law, I didn't realize Sara had never met her. I'm not sure if that is totally an accident. Maybe I was subconsciously arranging things so that they don't run into each other. But I should have known that Sara would see it and she wouldn't just let it go. If she wants to know something she just asks. And she wanted to know if I had feelings for Heather. I didn't have a choice. I had to answer her. I told her that I had been attracted to Heather but that I hadn't had sex with her. In the process I also let it slip that I hadn't had sex with anyone since that week in San Francisco eight years earlier. I wasn't ashamed of that. Nor was I particularly proud. I didn't understand it myself most of the time. I hadn't told Sara so that she would feel guilty about any men she had been with but I think that's what happened. I could see something in her eyes and feel desperation in her touch when she initiated our lovemaking that morning. But she had nothing to feel guilty about. The past is the past and it can't be changed. Only the future is ours to do with as we will and I intended to make up for every minute I had missed with Sara.

We had settled into a rhythm of sorts. We had found a way to keep professional and personal separate and we were comfortable together. Oddly enough, once we admitted to ourselves that we were in a relationship, it was as if we had been together for years. I believe we had spent eight years dealing with our growing pains and once we decided to move forward we had all that behind us. The relief I felt at no longer fighting against my desire for Sara was enough to make me feel ten years younger. I felt I was finally where I wanted to be. I was in a loving, stable relationship. I was at the top of my game at work. And then the unthinkable happened. Jim Brass was shot and something in me shifted. I had seen a lot of things in my life but Jim's pale face against those white sheets scared the shit out of me. I realized how short life is and how fickle fate can be. I could feel myself start to withdraw from Sara. I could see that she was at a loss. But I didn't know how to tell her what was wrong or how to fix it myself.

I learned a lot of things about Sara during our first year together. I found out she hated horror movies and loved JD Robb novels. I heard how badly she had wanted braces as a child. She told me about her lack of faith, her need for something concrete to hold onto. She proved that she found my middle-aged body attractive, sometimes more attractive than I could keep up with. I discovered a woman who was my equal on so many levels. She was a passionate and experimental lover, one who enjoyed giving pleasure as much as she enjoyed receiving it. Where I had been raised to appreciate art and wine and food, Sara had been raised to survive. There were so many things I got to experience for the first time again through her eyes. She taught me to be young. She was everything I had imagined and more; sweet and loving and funny and interesting. She was affectionate without being clingy. She was open and honest. She was driven. She was everything I wanted and way more than I deserved. She challenged everything I thought I knew about myself. And I hoped that I could hold onto her and still keep my sanity.


	15. Chapter 15

Defining Moments - Epilogue

Disclaimer: Not mine. But sometimes I really wish they were.

A/N: After swearing that I wouldn't read any angst I decided to write it instead. I have suffered from the worst case of writer's block in history (okay I'm exaggerating a little). Finally some very dear friends gave me the spark I needed to get off my butt and get this done. There is much angst here - be warned! A special thanks to atrueparrothead, Cropper and dreamsofhim! These women rock!!!

"_This girl holds me responsible for the death of Ernie Dell. I took away the only person she ever loved, so she's going to do the same thing to me. It's not about a psychotic reaction to bleach, or some dead sister or the doll." – Gil Grissom/Living Doll_

Ignoring the drawn blinds and the closed door, obvious signs of Grissom's desire to be alone, Catherine walked into his office and closed the door behind her. Only the slight lift of his head indicated that he realized she was in the room. He was sitting behind his desk with his back to the door, holding a rosary. She looked closer and realized that his thumb was rubbing over the beads, which were wrapped around his index finger, in a gesture that Catherine had seen him make a million times before but never understood until now. For a moment she hesitated, unwilling to interrupt what was obviously a very personal moment. Finally, her desire for knowledge overcame her reticence.

"Hey," Catherine said, her voice cracking with the weight of the emotion swirling in the darkened room. Clearing her throat she tried again. "Hey. I…uh…I heard the interview didn't go so well."

"You could say that." Grissom's voice was quiet and devoid of emotion.

Settling into a chair in front of his desk, Catherine crossed her legs and studied the back of Grissom's head. She and the rest of the team were still reeling from the little bomb he had dropped earlier in the day. The man was so cryptic that none of them knew whether to believe he was really in love with Sara or that he thought that was what Natalie believed. But his current display was tugging Catherine down the path of the former.

When Nick was taken Grissom was worried but calm and in control. When Brass was shot his behavior was the same. He was right in the thick of things, running the evidence, leading the team. But with Sara missing he had closed himself off, leaving the rest of them to look for her and worry about them both. The silence stretched out around them like the sands of the desert. Catherine knew she would have to be the one to break it.

She drew in a breath, releasing it on a sigh. "What you said earlier," she paused when his hand stilled and his shoulders straightened. Pushing past the warning vibe he was giving off, she continued. "What did that mean exactly?"

"What are you talking about, Catherine?" Grissom didn't turn around and she realized he was staring at the terrarium that held the tarantula. His voice was so low that Catherine had to strain to hear.

"When you announced to the entire team that Sara is the only person you've ever loved did you mean it?" His silence was all the confirmation she needed. "Oh, Gil," she moaned, "I can't believe you, of all people…" She never finished her sentence.

Whirling around and practically leaping to his feet, Grissom planted his palms flat on his desk and snarled, "What? You Can't Believe _What?_" his voice rising until he was screaming. Without warning he raked his hands over his desk, sending papers and folders flying. The sound of his coffee cup shattering seemed to pull him back from the edge of some dark precipice.

The door opened and Jim Brass stuck his head in taking note of the debris on the floor. "Is everything okay in here?"

Grissom sank down into his chair and covered his mouth with his right hand. Catherine turned and nodded at Brass. "Yeah, we're good." At Jim's disbelieving look, she gave a tight smile and said, "Really."

With a nod, Brass left closing the door behind him. Catherine turned back to Grissom. "Do you want to talk about it?"

With a mirthless laugh, Grissom turned his chair until he was once again staring at the terrarium. Catherine wasn't sure what her next move should be. She hated to leave him alone but she needed to be doing what she could to find Sara. She had decided to make an exit when he began to speak.

"I sent her that, you know." Grissom gestured toward the terrarium before running a hand through his hair. Catherine pretended not to see the way he trembled. "I left her here and went three thousand miles away and all I could send her was a chrysalis." With a bark of laughter, he continued, "And the damn thing hasn't even hatched." Almost as an after-thought he mumbled, "Shipping it was probably a bad idea."

For the first time Catherine saw the cocoon and she breathed a sigh of relief that Gil hadn't sent Sara a spider. Unsure of what to say, she remained quiet, hoping he would continue. Grissom's voice was once again calm and void of emotion. She was beginning to think she liked the raging, angry Gil better than the one she was faced with now.

Grissom turned his chair around so that he was facing Catherine. "Oh, I wrote her a letter too. Never mailed it." Looking up, pure disgust etched on his face, he said, "Nope, I was too much of a chicken shit to even put a stamp on the envelope."

Catherine met his gaze, her heart breaking a little when she saw the depth of his pain. "Gil, I…I don't know what to say."

Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose and when he opened his eyes they were suspiciously moist. "I just keep thinking of all the time I wasted because I was too blind to see what was right in front of my face, too afraid of being hurt."

"Grissom," Catherine's voice was filled with sympathy, "we're doing everything we can. We'll find her."

As if she hadn't spoken, Grissom continued in the same distant voice. "I've been sitting here with the past ten years running through my mind. I hurt her over and over. But she always forgave me. Did you know that?"

Catherine merely nodded. She knew that her job now was to listen and try to help him keep it together. To say that she was shocked, not only by Gil and Sara's relationship but by his obviously fragile state, would be an understatement.

"What if we're too late? What will I do without her?" His voice, thick with unshed tears, was barely more than a whisper. "All I'll have left is the dog."

Unable to hide her surprise, Catherine asked, "You have a dog? _You and Sara?_"

Anger narrowed Grissom's eyes and sarcasm dripped from every word. "Yes, Catherine, we have a dog. Despite what you may think, we are fairly normal. A pet, a house, a couple of cars, electronics, the works."

Holding up her hands in surrender, Catherine quickly apologized. "Sorry. It's just that I don't know what to think about all this." Deciding to try another tack, Catherine asked, "How long have you two been together?"

Slipping the rosary over his head and tucking it under his shirt, Grissom stood and began picking up the evidence of his earlier tirade. His voice was absent when he replied. "Since Berkeley."

Catherine gave a strangled gasp. "What?"

"Huh?" Grissom turned and, seeing the confusion on her face, began to shake his head. "No, no. Not like that."

"Well how long then?"

Without pause, he said, "Two years next week."

Catherine's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Quickly, her mind ran back to the time when Nick was trapped in that box. Understanding dawned leaving her speechless.

After a pause Grissom resumed gathering up reports and files. "I bought her a ring." He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal.

Catherine was officially beyond being surprised. Gil could tell her that he and Sara were getting married and running off to join the circus as clowns and she would just accept it. She thought for a moment about pinching herself just to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"I've never proposed before. Never found anybody who could put up with me for that long." Grissom placed the pile of papers on his desk and bent to begin picking up pieces of his shattered mug. "But Sara understands me. How many people can say that about the person they want to spend the rest of their lives with?"

"Gil," Catherine's voice was tinged with sadness, "you have to stop thinking that she's…that we won't find her."

Before he could say anything, Catherine's phone bleated. Pulling it off her belt, she read the message. "That's Hodges. I need to go check on some results." When he didn't respond she asked, "Do you want me to send Nick or Warrick? I could stay here with you."

Waving a hand dismissively, he said, "That's ok. I'm fine." Just before the door closed she heard him say, "Sorry about before."

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Catherine shook her head as she pulled the door closed, her thoughts running in circles. She turned toward the Trace Lab and almost ran into Brass who was leaning on the wall outside Grissom's office.

"Jim," she yelped, throwing a hand over her heart. "Jesus, you scared me."

Worry was etched onto his face. "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you two were okay in there."

With a nod, Catherine indicated that everything was fine. Not sure what else to say she mumbled about going to trace and moved to go around him.

Brass reached out and caught her arm. "How's he doing?" Her hesitation confirmed his suspicions. "You go on. I'll stay with him." Doubt clouded Catherine's face and she opened her mouth to warn him but Brass just gave a rueful grin. "I've known for a while now. You aren't protecting his secret from me."

More than a little upset, Catherine said, "He told you?"

"No, he didn't tell me. I heard them in the break room one day talking about dinner." When she just stared at him, eyebrow lifted in a silent demand for more information, he continued, "Gil was heating up her dinner and talking about the dog…and…they…um…implied…uh mentioned…_thattheyhadsexbeforework_." The rush of words and the blush staining his cheeks did nothing to lessen the impact of those words.

Catherine bit her lip to hold in a laugh. Finally, she said, "I can't believe they were together and nobody knew." New frustration at the circumstances they were all facing surged through her body. "Dammit Jim, we have to find Sara. It will kill him if…" Her voice trailing off, Catherine swiped at the tears gathering in her eyes. Turning she walked away.

Brass hesitated for a moment his shoulders slumped under the weight of their situation. Drawing himself up, he turned the knob and pushed open the door to Grissom's office.

"Hey, Gil. Everything okay?" When he got no response, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Grissom, once again seated and staring at the terrarium, said, "If you came in here to cheer me up don't bother."

Brass strode forward and settled into one of the chairs in front of Grissom's desk. "Nope. I came in here to tell you Ecklie is looking for you. He wants to talk to you about man-handling our psycho suspect."

"Really?" Grissom said without turning around. His voice held no hint of concern over his actions, nor any hint of the excitement he usually exhibited during tough cases.

"Yeah. He's on the warpath. You'll probably get suspended, if not worse." Grissom's only response was a nod. After a moment, Brass said, "Do you have someone who can feed the dog for you?"

Grissom glanced over his shoulder in surprise, and shook his head. "I hadn't even thought about that."

Standing, Brass said, "Come on. Get your jacket."

Turning around to face his friend with fire in his eyes, Grissom said, "No! I'm not leaving until we find her."

"Gil, don't be stubborn. The dog needs to be fed and taken out. You need to be as far away from Ecklie as you can get so that you don't do something you'll regret when this is all over. Now get your stuff." When the man seemed prepared to continue arguing, Brass said, "Look, I'll drive you home and if anything breaks I'll make sure you get there as fast as possible."

Seeing that Brass wasn't going to back down, Grissom nodded. He pulled on his jacket and picked up his keys. "Let's go."

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When Brass would have made the right to head toward Gil's townhouse, Grissom told him to keep going. Not asking questions, Jim followed directions to a quiet cul-de-sac about two miles off Summerlin Parkway. It was a nice middle class neighborhood with more than its share of stucco ranch style homes. The neat sidewalks and well kept lawns fit with Brass' image of a place Gil and Sara would feel comfortable.

Brass turned into the driveway indicated by Grissom and stopped the car. Putting the vehicle in park and cutting the engine, he took a moment to look around. The outside of the house was cream stucco with a clay tile roof. The small front yard was xeriscaped, the sparse vegetation requiring very little care to survive in the desert heat. A paved walk ran from the drive to the covered front porch and a beautiful dark oak door with a stained glass panel on the top completed the inviting picture.

Grissom made no move to exit the vehicle. Brass studied his friend, taking in the rigid set of his jaw and the tremble that seemed to affect his entire body. Finally he broke the silence, "Do you want to wait out here?"

With a shake of his head, Grissom reached for the handle and opened the door. Levering himself out of the car, he stood for a moment drawing a calming breath deep into his lungs before making his way slowly toward the house. With hands that shook, he managed to work the key into the lock and then he was inside. The breath left his lungs in a rush. Sara was everywhere. The very air smelled of her. Her laughter echoed through the rooms. A crushing weight settled in the center of Grissom's chest. He couldn't breathe. He was vaguely aware of Bruno nuzzling his hand in greeting, of Brass stepping in behind him and pushing the door closed. Still, no air would enter his tortured body. Bending forward, hands pressing against his bent knees and eyes squeezed shut in concentration, he forced himself to inhale.

"Oh God," he moaned, fighting back nausea. "Oh dear God."

Brass laid a hesitant hand on Grissom's shoulder. "Gil, you need to sit down." When he didn't respond, Jim gave him a little shake. "Come on. I'll get you some water."

Slowly, Grissom straightened up and shuffled to the family room. He sat on the sofa that Sara picked out, surrounded by the walls that he had helped Sara paint, leaned back against the pillows that Sara had purchased and thought about how different his life had been before – how empty. His townhouse had been cold, almost sterile, with white walls and functional furniture. But Sara had brought warmth and color and comfort into his life. Unfortunately, along with the good there was bad. She had brought the ability to feel, to love and by association to hurt.

"Gil," Brass' voice drew him from his reverie. "Here, drink this."

Grissom took the glass from Jim's hand and dutifully took a sip. The water was cool against his parched lips and he raised it again and drank several long gulps. "Thanks," he murmured when he had lowered the glass.

"If you tell me where the food is, I'll take care of the dog."

"Bruno," he replied absently. "His name is Bruno. He belonged to my mother." A soft chuff of laughter escaped as another memory assailed him. "I was going to let him go to a shelter when mom died but Sara wouldn't hear of it. She insisted I bring him home. So, here he is." He raised his hands in a gesture that indicated he was helpless when it came to Sara.

Brass was quiet, absorbing the tidbit of information. After a moment he asked, "Is Bruno's food in the kitchen?"

Shaking his head to clear it, Grissom said, "Yeah, it's in a container under the sink. He gets one of those scoops." Another fleeting smile and he continued, "Sara gives him two. She thinks I don't know it though, like it's their little secret. He'd be lost without her, you know."

Knowing that Grissom wasn't talking about only Bruno, Jim swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You have to stop thinking like that. We're going to bring her back alive." Receiving no response, Brass turned and headed for the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll let him out before I feed him. Does he have a leash?"

"You won't need it. The backyard is fenced. Just don't let him in the hot tub. He thinks it's a swimming pool."

"Are you going to be okay in here?" Brass' voice was full of concern.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "Go ahead." Jim studied his friend for a moment before heading for the kitchen to let Bruno out.

When he heard the kitchen door close behind Brass, Grissom stood and began to roam through the house, memories assailing him from every corner. _Sara in the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a tank top and panties, waiting on the coffee to brew. Sara in the living room, curled up on the sofa, a book in her hand. Sara on the deck, rubbing Bruno's head and crying because he had hurt her again with his thoughtless behavior. Sara coming through the front door with a smile on her face. Sara wandering into his office and distracting him with her sweet kisses and silky skin. Sara in the bathtub, her hair piled up on her head and bubbles surrounding her – nothing but her smooth shoulders showing above the surface. Sara in their bed, sheets tangled around her hips, arms flung over her head while her chest rose and fell in her sleep._ Sara the clown, Sara the nurturer, Sara the wounded, Sara the seductress – they all lived and laughed and loved within the walls. They all held a piece of his heart.

Never had Grissom expected the anguish he was experiencing. He had lost people before to death or time and distance; his father, his mother, his first girlfriend, his best friend. But he had never lost his soul mate. He had never lost the one person who was more important to him than anyone or anything. Not being a man prone to dramatic flights of fancy, he'd had a hard time understanding the feeling that washed over him when he realized he had lost any chance of connecting with Natalie Davis. Then, as her eyes clouded with madness, Grissom understood. She had taken away more than his girlfriend. She had taken away his life. He knew that if Sara were to die, Natalie would have killed him as surely as if she had taken a blade to his throat. He had, for a moment, seen it unfold. _Her hand flashed forward, a shard of glass clasped between her thumb and forefinger. She slashed at his throat, slicing through the thin skin there and into his carotid. He actually felt his life's blood spurting out in huge, hot, red arcs._ Fantasy or not, he had been helpless to stop it, just as he was helpless to find Sara.

Brass found Grissom sitting on the edge of a bed in what he assumed was the master bedroom. He didn't notice the shaking shoulders at first. Instead his eyes were drawn to the sparkle of the diamond in the ring Grissom was holding. It wasn't until the ragged sound of sobs reached his ears that Jim realized Gil was crying. Unsure of what to do, Brass turned and left. After allowing Grissom time to compose himself Brass returned, calling Gil's name as he made his way down the hall.

"Gil," Brass called out, "I made some coffee. You want a cup?"

A choked 'yeah' was all he got in response. A few minutes later, Grissom made his way into the living room. His footsteps were heavy, plodding, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. Brass noticed that he had washed his face but his red rimmed eyes were evidence of the tears he had shed. Bruno, sensing his master's distress, pressed his body against Grissom's leg and looked up at him with wide, sad eyes. Absently, Grissom reached down and stroked a hand along the dog's side.

"Thanks," Grissom mumbled when Brass pressed a cup into his hand. He took a sip, wincing as the hot liquid scalded the inside of his mouth. "Any word?"

Brass gave a shake of his head. "Are you holding up?" he asked. His voice was quiet and devoid of his usual snarkiness.

Grissom took another drink and said, "No. Not really."

"You know the team'll figure it out. They're the best, no thanks to me."

"How can you be so sure? There're more than twenty thousand square miles of sand out there. She could be anywhere. If we don't get there in time…" Eyes clenched to hold back a fresh flood of tears he rasped out, "She's my world." Drawing in a steadying breath he continued, "All those years I held back were for a reason. I _knew_ it would be like this. The sabbatical was my last chance to get my life under control. But all I could think about was getting back here, back to her."

Brass merely studied the man in front of him, waiting on him to complete his thoughts.

"She's never been afraid to feel, Jim. It's like she embraces the pain. Takes it in and uses it to make her a better person. She's not supposed to die before me. I'm fifteen years older and not nearly as strong. She could survive without me. But," Grissom's voice broke and his shoulders shook as sobs racked his frame. "I can't do this without her."

Brass' eyes were suspiciously moist when he reached out and placed a hand on Grissom's shoulder giving it a supportive squeeze. "Let's get out of here. We'll go back to the lab and check on the guys."

The sun was high in the sky when the two men left the house. The cold, rainy night had given way to the blistering heat of midday Vegas. Grissom didn't know which conditions were worse but he feared dehydration more than hypothermia. Fingering the rosary under his collar, he said another silent prayer for her safety. He was staring blindly out the window when Brass shifted into reverse and began backing up.

The car had barely cleared the driveway when Jim's cell phone chirped. Snatching it off his belt he barked, "Brass."

Catherine's excited voice filled his ears. "Jim, 911 just got a call from some guys who were riding dirt bikes in the desert. They found the car."

"Did they find Sara?"

"Yes! She's groggy but coherent enough to tell them her name. I've got the EMT's on the way. The guys that found her are staying there until we arrive." She paused to catch her breath then continued, "Is Gil with you? I can't find him anywhere."

"Yeah, he's right here. Now give me a location." Brass held up a finger to indicate that Grissom should wait before jotting down the information from Catherine. "Okay, we'll meet you there."

As soon as he closed the phone Brass hit the lights and siren on the car. Throwing the vehicle into drive and flooring the gas, he glanced over at Grissom's anxious face. With a tight smile he said, "Some folks riding dirt bikes found her, Gil. She's alive."

Grissom's shoulders sagged in relief as Jim's words washed over him. He sent a murmured prayer of thanks heavenward. Then he was leaning forward, urging the speeding car to go faster. The pulse of the lights matching the rhythm of the phrase running through his mind – _She's Alive! She's Alive! She's Alive! _

Miles passed in a blur. Time crawled like a snail. Finally, the car skidded to a halt behind two Denali's, half a dozen police cruisers and an ambulance. They were parked on the edge of a barely discernible road that was surrounded by hard packed sand and scrub brush for as far as the eye could see. And there, just over a rise, was an overturned car. Grissom flung open his door and began to run toward the Mustang in the distance. Stumbling, his feet slipping on loose rocks, sweat clouding his vision, Grissom moved as fast as he could. When he reached the vehicle he pushed through the knot of deputies that had gathered and ran past the Warrick and Catherine. Ignoring Nick and Greg, he knelt down and peered underneath the car. Reaching in, he found Sara's hand and clasped it.

"Sara, honey, I'm here. Can you hear me?"

A faint, raspy voice reached his ears. "Grissom? It's about time you showed up." He could hear the teasing tone in her voice and it brought tears of joy to his eyes.

A laugh bubbled in his throat and his heart soared. Sara was alive!


End file.
